


Seven Year Ache

by ObsidiansChild



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dad! Quentin, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Use, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Hedge Witch Eliot Waugh, Hedge Witch Quentin Coldwater, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Just So Many Fairies, M/M, Reunions, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt (Flashback)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 98,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26521825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidiansChild/pseuds/ObsidiansChild
Summary: Five years ago, Alice's actions forced Quentin to make a deal with the Fairy Queen that could eventually cost him his daughter. A random coincidence puts Quentin in the middle of a coven of hedge witches that could possibly help him save her. The only issue is, it's run by his ex-boyfriend-- Eliot.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 271
Kudos: 186





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I promised myself I would NOT post a WIP, but it's been so long and I can't wait anymore! I'll be posting this prologue and the first chapter tonight. The second chapter should be coming soon, I hope. I have no schedule, so hopefully if you like this, you'll bear with me. Writing has been difficult lately, with quarantine and lots of other personal stuff going on. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, there is art I made for the first few chapters, but unfortunately my PC crapped out and my Chromebook can't support Photoshop, so additional chapters won't have art until I can replace my computer. 
> 
> Aaaaand thanks to autumnennui for all her suggestions and support!
> 
> ***To prevent any confusion, this fic actually takes place in 2022. Strange, but it worked out that way.***

  
[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190315734@N08/50354001123/in/album-72157716014376941/)

**Heart's Made of Parts**

Quentin wasn’t in the best mood that morning as he silently cursed the dim lighting of his store, wondering what had possessed him to lease such a shithole. The low rent had been the determining factor, but he couldn’t deny he’d been a little enamored with the look of the place when he’d first set eyes on it. _(“The aesthetic,”_ a voice whispered distantly in his thoughts, but no thanks, not today. Today was shit enough without— _that.)_ Before signing a large chunk of his inheritance away, all the quirks of the building had seemed romantic. Quentin had loved the long mahogany bar with its scarred surface. _“Place was a speakeasy once,”_ the landlord had told him, and he’d pictured the narrow space full of gangsters and women with sleek bob haircuts, with jazz echoing out onto the street. 

Now, Quentin understood that romance was all well and good until you had to pay for it every month. The tin ceiling tiles he’d loved so much were hiding significant water damage from god only knew how many leaking pipes, and those pipes sometimes knocked so violently that his daughter yelped and scrambled into his arms when he ran her baths. The upstairs windows were ancient and he could actually feel wind blowing through them when he walked down the hall, which he’d failed to notice only had one light fixture until he’d had to live with Kit sprinting past his bedroom door at night whenever she had to use the bathroom. (He’d found a little toy lantern for her to travel with at night and she loved it, so he supposed it wasn’t all bad.) 

Today, though, his daughter was mad at him and sulking in her room. The morning had started out well enough; Kit hadn’t even complained when he’d found they were out of cereal and she’d been forced to eat oatmeal, something that usually made her especially bratty. It hadn’t been until she’d requested him to French braid her hair that things had turned ugly. He didn’t even know what a French braid was, and also hadn’t understood how she’d even heard of it (YouTube, apparently), and after that she’d refused to allow him to even brush out her tangled bedhead, claiming she’d fix her own “stupid hair” before she’d slammed her door in his face. So yeah, he wasn’t in the greatest mood, and later he was going to have to call his best friend and ask if she knew how to fucking braid hair. At least Julia would get a laugh out of it. 

Switching on the lighted magnifying glass he kept clamped to the counter, Quentin adjusted the neck until it fell over the pocket watch in his hand, studying the exposed workings within. He hated manual repairs—okay, they weren’t actually manual since he usually used magic to piece things back together, but he preferred magical objects over mundane ones. Regular objects usually required parts, like this one. He quickly identified a missing spring within the tiny clockwork and wondered if he had any spares in his office. 

Hearing the electronic bell signal someone was entering the store, Quentin looked up from his work to see a familiar face, relieved that he didn’t have to put on his Customer Service act for someone. “Hey, Kady. You’re out early.” 

The woman shrugged, giving him a twitch of a smile as she approached the counter, shuffling through a canvas bag at her hip. “Well, fuck. It’s in here somewhere.” 

“You find a bunch of cool stuff at the market today?” 

“Not really, I just never clean this thing out,” she laughed, removing a small leather binder from the bag and tossing it onto the bar top that served as his counter. “I did pick that up. The lady that sold it to me said it was a grimoire from the Fifties that someone tried to get rid of.” 

“Yeah?” Quentin carefully unzipped the binder, peeking in at the shredded paper within. “Jesus.” Opening it further, he saw a faded canvas binding was also tucked inside. “Yeah, I can probably get it back together for you. Might take a little while, though.” 

“Hey, whatever you can do. If I can get one new spell out of it, I’m happy.” Her smile turned borderline flirtatious, in a way that was obviously faked for humor. “If you just work on it when you’re bored, could I get a discount?” 

Quentin laughed, zipping the case closed and setting it on a shelf beneath the counter. He tried to keep magical objects out of view, never knowing who could sense them. So far, _out of sight, out of mind_ had worked for him. “Yeah, I could swing that.” 

Kady’s smile turned more genuine. “Thanks. Next time I come across something that screams ‘nerd,’ I’ll grab it for you.” 

“Sounds good,” he agreed with a laugh. “Want me to text you when I’m done?” 

“Yeah, but no rush.” Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she glanced around the narrow store. “Where’s the kid?” 

Quentin sighed, rolling his eyes. “Probably inventing new insults for me in her room. We’ve, uh, had a rough morning.” 

“Better you than me,” she chuckled. “See ya later, Coldwater.” 

Once Kady left the store, Quentin turned back to his work with a frown. One day, he was going to work up the nerve to ask Kady about her coven. He’d been trying for months, but Kady was kind of intimidating, and he also wasn’t really sure on the etiquette of such things. None of the hedges that frequented his shop ever mentioned their covens, but he knew Kady was in one. She’d run into Marina while leaving one day, and the conversation he’d overheard hadn’t exactly been polite. Quentin had pieced together enough to surmise Kady had left Marina’s coven for another, and Marina thought she was “slumming.” 

He was chatty enough with Marina that he felt he could probably ask her about her coven, but he couldn’t imagine answering to the woman on any sort of frequent basis if he were invited to join. She seemed to like him and she absolutely doted on Kit, but there was something sharp behind her smiles, like she was waiting for a chance to sink her teeth into him or something. Kady was scary in her own way, but nothing in her eyes screamed “crazy” the way Marina’s did. 

Julia didn’t love the fact his work often had him brushing shoulders with hedge witches, but it paid the bills. He’d wanted to join a coven for years, and it was one of the few things that caused arguments between them. Julia claimed covens were too unstable, and learning more magic wasn’t worth putting Kit at risk. He secretly thought she was kind of snob about the whole thing, but he’d stopped mentioning it after his dad had passed away, not wanting to risk the only family he had left in his life outside of his daughter. But Quentin knew he was running out of time to find a solution to his looming problem. Julia had been offered a teaching position after graduating from Brakebills, which had left him hopeful for a while, but it hadn’t given them any new resources. She still hadn’t found a way to save Kit from the deal he’d been forced to make—the deal that would eventually take his daughter from him. Julia claimed there wasn’t a coven on earth that had more connections than Brakebills could offer, but so far the university hadn’t offered a fucking thing. 

Even if Kady wasn’t willing to discuss her coven, Quentin knew there had to be someone in New York who had information about Fillory and the fairies hidden within. His friends couldn’t have been the only ones to discover it since the Chatwins had ruled, and Kady was a frequent visitor to the underground black market community. She had to know someone, or at least be able to point him in a direction. He’d ask her. Next time. He couldn’t afford to wait much longer. 

With his brain occupied with thoughts of fairies and how much he hated them, the last thing Quentin was expecting was for one to walk right into his shop. 

An older man stepped in first, looking around critically at the tall, dusty shelves full of books and antique items Quentin kept displayed for sale, more for show than anything. The woman who stepped in after him immediately caught Quentin’s eye, her worn, roughspun robes just unusual enough to hold his attention. Quentin froze when he noticed her completely black eyes and dry, pale skin. What the fuck was a fairy doing in the Village? 

Shit. _Shit._

There was a McAllister in his store. 

In five years, the only thing Quentin, Julia, and Penny had learned from all their research and all the spells they’d performed was that every fairy within the perimeters of their location spells had appeared on a McAllister property. 

The fairy noticed his attention and shrank from his gaze, her shoulders folding inward as she shook her head slightly, like a warning. Fuck, Quentin wasn’t supposed to be able to see her, was he? 

“I’m told you repair things,” the man spoke in an arrogant tone, and Quentin was grateful to find him still perusing the shelves as he tore his eyes from the fairy. 

“Uh, y-yes. I do,” he replied, managing a short nod. 

The man turned towards the counter, the fairy hovering just past his shoulder as he reached into an inner pocket of his coat and withdrew what appeared to be a piece of jewelry. He placed it on the scarred surface of the bar, and Quentin could see it was a necklace, though the pendant was broken in half. “I need this put back together, with the spells intact. Can you do that?” 

Quentin slowly moved to touch the necklace, and when the man didn’t stop him he took it in hand, reaching out with his magic to feel for the spells placed on it. He recognized the familiar sensation of fairy magic instantly and knew he couldn’t repair it. But there were other spells on it, intricate ones, and they called to him, along with the simple break in the metal. 

“It’s hard to say,” Quentin replied, placing the necklace between them again as he willed his hands not to shake. “There’s something, um, unfamiliar about it? But I’m willing to try, if you want to leave it here.” 

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” the man replied, and when he reached into his pocket again, Quentin risked another glance at the fairy. She was wearing the same necklace, the pendant visible just below her neck. If he could identify the spells on the necklace it could give them more information. They hadn’t had a single lead in years. He could risk keeping it for a day or two before confessing he couldn’t repair it. 

The man placed a business card on the counter. The top line read, _Edwin McAllister,_ along with two phone numbers. “Call me when you’re done, one way or another. Price isn’t important.” 

Quentin was about to reply when he heard the familiar clatter of his daughter’s shoes on the stairs behind him. He turned to tell her to head back upstairs, but only saw a flash of her blonde hair flying out behind her as she ran past the counter, sliding to a stop in the middle of the narrow aisle of the store. He froze as her wide blue eyes immediately fastened on the fairy, her tiny eyebrows climbing up her face in fascination. 

Everything slowed to a crawl as Quentin watched the man turn towards Kit, his hand lifting into the air when he realized the girl could see the fairy at his side. Quentin reacted without thought, bringing his hands together to cast a shield on his daughter, already running over what other defensive spells he knew, anything he could use to get her to safety. 

But the man didn’t cast towards Kit, didn’t even look his way as he cast, and Quentin didn’t have time to react before he felt a rush of movement, the store seeming to tilt around him before a bright burst of pain erupted in his head. He heard Kit scream as everything dimmed around him, going black. 


	2. Chapter 2

  


**Hello**

**Kady**

Kady was leaving the deli down the block with a bag of bagels when she was nearly knocked off her feet by a thick wave of magic so strong she felt her eyes would water. Quentin was the only caster she knew for blocks, and worry set her running back towards his store, the bag falling from her hand. The man was amazing at mending, but she had no clue if he knew anything beyond that, and he allowed anyone in his store. If he pissed the wrong person off, he could be in trouble. 

Kady slowed to a stop quickly, her arms pinwheeling a bit to hold her balance as she spotted a black town car parked in the street in front of Quentin’s store. The windows she could see of the vehicle were missing and she noticed safety glass scattered all over the pavement, reflecting in the weak morning sun. Seeing a sudden flash of pale hair, Kady cursed loudly when she saw Kit struggling to make her way out of the rear window of the car. Paying no attention to the glass, she rushed towards the child to help her out. “Kady!” the girl yelled, her voice panicked and desperate as her nimble limbs scrambled across the trunk. 

“Fuck!” Kady cursed again as the car began to roll forwards, grabbing firmly under Kit’s arms and barely getting the girl’s legs around her waist before the car lurched away from the curb. Looking around, no one seemed to be noticing the scene at all—whoever had tried taking Kit had obviously cast something to deflect attention, and considering there had been some sort of explosion, they knew their shit. She only saw a silhouette of the escaping driver before the car careened around the corner and out of sight. 

“Hey, you okay?” she asked Quentin’s daughter, leaning back to get a look at her face. 

“My daddy!” Kit sobbed, thick tears leaking from her eyes. Kady didn’t see any obvious damage to the child, so she shifted her onto her hip to hurry towards the store, letting herself inside. 

She didn’t immediately see Quentin, but Kit struggled against her so Kady let her down and followed the girl around the tall counter where Quentin was sprawled on his side behind it, unconscious. “Don’t touch him,” she warned, gesturing for Kit to keep her distance as she approached to crouch down beside the man. 

He was breathing and Kady didn’t see any blood, which were good signs. “Did you see what happened?” she asked Kit. 

“The man, he pushed him. With magic.” She pointed to the shelves behind the bar that reached up to the ceiling. “He hit those and fell.” 

“Okay, so he probably hit his head,” Kady said, keeping her voice calm for the girl. “He’s gonna be fine, but I need to make sure I can move him.” She hoped she wasn’t lying to the girl. 

Kit nodded, her little mouth turned down. “I’m a-sposed to call Aunt Jules if something bad happens,” she replied. 

“Okay, we’ll do that. Promise. Let me get a look at him first, though, okay? I might be able to help, and we need to get you out of here in case the man comes back. Did he say anything to you? Do you know why he grabbed you?” 

The girl shook her head, her blue eyes wide. “I don’t know. He hurt Daddy and picked me up. When we got in the car, he told another man to come get Daddy, and then I made him let me go.” 

_What the fuck,_ Kady thought, thinking of the powerful blast she’d felt. “You used magic?” 

Kit’s face trembled. “Daddy said not to, not ever, but I didn’t know what to do!” she wailed. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kady told her, reaching out to pat at the girl’s shoulder. She was so small and frail-looking, she was almost afraid of hurting her. “You got away, right? That’s good. And now we can help your dad. But I need you to do something really important for right now.” Kit met her gaze with grave eyes. “I need you to pack a bag with everything you need in it, okay? Only important stuff. Have you ever gone on a sleepover?” 

Kit nodded quickly. “Like with Aunt Jules. Toothbrush, DS, phone. And chargers. And my inhaler.” 

“Yeah, just like that,” Kady smiled encouragingly. “Do you know where any of your dad’s important stuff is? Like his keys or his phone?” 

Kit pointed towards the register on the counter. “He puts stuff under there. I can get his charger. Oh! And his medicine. I know where it is.” 

“Okay, you do that, and I’m gonna get us some help.” 

“‘Kay!” Kit took off up the stairs that were hidden behind a thick curtain and Kady turned her attention back to Quentin, firing off a quick spell that would allow her to see any broken bones. She hissed when she saw the small, web-like fracture to his skull and the hairline cracks along a few of his ribs. Kady had sustained worse and walked away, and knew Amelia could fix him up in no time. Quentin definitely couldn’t stay here waiting for someone to come to him. 

Sighing, Kady withdrew her phone from the pocket of her jeans and called Eliot. 

**Eliot**

Eliot was leaning against the kitchen counter, barely awake as he sipped at his coffee. He was confused when his phone started ringing from inside the pocket of his robe, his brow lifting when he saw Kady’s name on the screen. 

“Is your water fucked up again?” he answered tiredly. He was not in the mood to hear Margo threatening the life of another plumber. 

“No, I’m not even there,” she replied in a long sigh. “Look, I’ve got some shit and I wanted to ask before I drag anyone else into it.” 

Great; he _loved_ drama before ten in the morning. Eliot set his coffee aside, stepping into the dining room where Margo was already dressed for the day and looking fabulous, her legs crossed over the side of her chair as she typed away on her laptop. He snapped to grab her attention, and mouthed “Kady,” pointing to the phone at his ear. She frowned, closing her laptop. “Okay, what’s the problem?” 

“I know you asked me not to mention you to Coldwater, and I haven’t. But I just watched someone try to abduct him and his kid, and he’s knocked out cold and busted up pretty bad. He needs a healer, and they probably both need out of here in case that fucker decides to come back.” 

A cold dread sank into Eliot’s chest. Quentin was hurt? 

_Eliot searched Quentin’s eyes for any recognition, any sign of life in his boyfriend’s eyes, his hands aching as he gripped the man’s forearms, but it wasn’t helping, he knew it wasn’t, and Q was so pale, and Eliot felt dangerously light-headed as his eyes flickered over the red on the floor and the dark stains against Quentin’s jeans, blacker than the denim. Why had he refused to learn any healing spells? He was_ useless, _and Quentin was going to die while he did nothing, he could never do_ anything _right when it counted._

For over a year, Eliot had forced two versions of Quentin Coldwater to exist in his mind—there was the one he’d dated for over three years during undergrad and very deliberately did not think about (unless he was alone and incredibly intoxicated, but if no one knew, did it really count?), and the one Kady had mentioned owned an antique store less than two miles away, who repaired magical items for hedges all over the city because _that_ Quentin knew magic was real, and also had a _kid._

In that moment, the two versions of Quentin that Eliot had needed to remain separate slammed together violently in his mind, and he was flooded with memories that were suddenly real again, too many of them painted a nauseating red that left him feeling raw and exposed. 

Eliot blinked rapidly, trying to process Kady’s words, trying to think. “Uh, is um…” His voice sounded fragile and strained to his own ears, and he snapped his mouth closed, inhaling sharply. _Get it together, Waugh._

“Eliot, what the fuck is going on?” Margo asked, and he noticed she’d left her seat and was now looking up at him worriedly. 

He shook his head at her, forcing down his panic. “Um, how bad is he? I could send Amelia to look him over if—” 

“Yeah, I thought of that, but if he pissed someone off, they could come back for round two.” 

“And you don’t know why?” 

“I don’t know shit,” she told him, obviously frustrated. “I’m just afraid to leave them here.” 

Eliot took a shaky breath, turning away from Margo’s demanding gaze. “I’ll, um, send Todd. Just hold on, okay?” 

“Thanks.” 

Ending the call, Eliot forced his hand to stop shaking, finding Todd’s number and dialing it before Margo could start questioning him. 

“Good morning, Eliot!” the man greeted him cheerily, and it was so annoying and _normal_ that it worked to calm Eliot’s nerves slightly. 

“Hi, Todd. Are you in the hotel?” 

“Yeah, I was just getting ready to head down. Need something?” 

“I need you to run over to the Village and help Kady with something. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll text you the address and just—do what she says.” 

Eliot hung up before Todd could respond, texting the address of Quentin’s store to the man before dropping his phone into his pocket again. 

Quentin. He was going to see Quentin. 

“Eliot, what the fuck?” 

Eliot turned towards Margo, trying to keep his expression composed and knowing he was failing miserably. “Kady’s bringing Quentin here. He’s, um… she said he’s hurt. Someone attacked him.” 

Margo’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What, the antiques guy?” 

A jagged laugh escaped Eliot at that, and he knew he sounded insane by the way Margo’s eyes sharpened on his face. He felt like he might pass out, and part of him wished for it, just to avoid her questions. This was too much to process, and god, he was still in his robe. “I—have to get dressed. And make sure Amelia’s here. Is Amelia here?” 

“Eliot, you’re not doing shit until you _talk_ to me,” Margo demanded, tugging at his wrist. 

Eliot wet his lips anxiously, removing his wrist from Margo’s grip to fold his hand over hers. “Fine, but walk with me?” 

Margo walked briskly beside him as he set a swift pace down the hall leading to the lobby, but Eliot didn’t speak until they stepped together into the elevator and he distractedly pressed the button for the top floor, leaning back against the wall to wait. “Kady said someone tried to take off with Quentin’s daughter, and knocked him out. He needs a healer.” 

“Yeah, I _got_ most of that,” Margo said, pulling out her phone, her thumbs typing furiously and Eliot knew she was texting Amelia for him. “I’m confused on the part where you care. Have you ever met the guy?” 

Eliot drummed his fingers lightly against the wall, breathing deeply. “Yeah, we’ve met,” he said quietly, trying not to give in to the guilt that sat like a rock in his throat as he recalled all the times Margo had tried bringing this up, when she hadn’t had a name to attach to his downward spiral. He’d always hated to see the flash of hurt in her eyes when he’d refused to confide in her, because it took _so much_ for Margo to talk about anything real. Yet she’d tried with him, over and over for months. “We, um—we dated. Before I dropped out.” 

Margo, who knew him inside and out, who could probably write a textbook detailing every twitch of his expression and change in his voice, blinked once before he watched her eyes widen dramatically as she zeroed in on his face, immediately searching for cracks in his armor, like Kady’s call had delivered some fatal wound she’d missed, and the statement was some sort of last moment confession he never would have given otherwise. He didn’t blame her—it was the most information he’d ever given her about Quentin. _We dated._ Eliot knew his inability to share with her had only made her worry more back then, because Margo knew some truly awful things about him, painful things. But Quentin had always been off limits, and he hadn’t even been able to explain why to her. Margo held a piece of his soul, but Quentin had held his heart, and he’d never given it back. From the day Margo had found him curled in the floor, Eliot had been missing a piece of himself. How did you tell your best friend she loved a hollow shell? 

“Wait, _he’s_ the boyfriend?” 

Hoping she wouldn’t elaborate, he quickly nodded. Yes, Quentin was the boyfriend. The one he’d sobbed into Margo’s lap over, too drunk to conduct himself property. The one Margo had literally picked him up off the floor over, just weeks after they’d first met. Eliot often felt grateful over the fact he only remembered hazy moments of that first month Margo had come into his life, because the ones he did remember were humiliating. He had no idea why she’d decided to stay, or why she’d driven him to rehab and written the check to pay for it, or visited him nearly every day until he was released, or moved him into her loft in Tribeca. They weren’t the type for deep discussion, for the _whys_ of life. He only knew he’d needed her, as ugly as he’d been to her in those days, and he still needed her. She’d helped fill up that shell he’d been that first year, helped him decide who he was going to be from that point forward. He knew she _didn’t_ need him, not the least little bit. Something kept her around, though, and it was a mystery he never cared to solve. 

“And he’s coming here?” 

“I… Yeah. Kady’s not sure who attacked them, but she thinks they might come back.” 

Margo gave him a dubious look as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened to his apartment. He led the way through his living area and into the bedroom, where she touched his elbow, drawing his eyes to hers. “El, is this a good idea?” 

He quickly looked away from her concerned eyes, shrugging off his robe to toss onto the bed. “I don’t know what you mean,” he lied. “We’ve helped people outside the coven before. We helped Kady, didn’t we?” 

“Yeah, but we _knew_ Kady. And fuck, we know Marina. Of course she wanted out. And you know damn well that’s not what I was asking, but fine. Ignore that. Let’s focus on this. Do you know what he’s into? Who attacked him? Are we getting dragged into some other coven’s bullshit if he comes here?” 

“Margo, I don’t know,” he said quietly, hating the desperate edge in his voice as he stepped past her to enter his closet, pulling a navy shirt from its hanger and sliding his arms into the sleeves. He didn’t have time to put any thought into his look today, but he had several outfits he kept in mind just for such occurrences. 

“I figured. Which means you’re thinking with your dick on this. Or something worse,” she grumbled and Eliot watched her lean against the door jamb out of the corner of his eye, crossing her arms. 

Eliot found a matching pair of pants and stepped into them. “So, I was supposed to leave him and a small child to fend for themselves? In my territory?” 

“Don’t even,” she warned and he gave her a tired look as he buttoned his pants. “I didn’t say that. But I don’t know shit about this guy, and you know being in the dark pisses me off.” 

“I really don’t know what to tell you, Bambi,” he sighed, finding a silvery blue vest to pair with his shirt. “I haven’t seen him since we broke up. Beyond his store, I only know he went to Brakebills.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“Because I tried to find him a few days after we—ended things,” he admitted. “And he was gone, along with his best friend. Their roommate told me they’d been accepted into a ‘super exclusive’ graduate program and left without any notice. That’s how.” He didn’t add that he’d known Quentin had magic long before that—he’d felt it, seen it when he did his card tricks. But Eliot had never been able to tell him, unable to break the gag order spell he’d been under for years. 

“Yeah, that tracks. I wonder what a Brakebills graduate is doing running a cruddy antiques store, though. Think he flunked out?” 

Eliot grabbed his favorite pair of ankle boots from the floor. “I doubt it,” he replied, leaving the closet to set the shoes aside and find a tie in his dresser, which Margo took from his hands to knot for him. He could do it with his eyes closed, but knew she was letting him know in her quiet way that she wasn’t angry with him. Yet. 

“You gonna tell me anything else about this guy?” she asked casually as she tightened the knot, catching his eye. He saw the old hope there (under her cool, practiced apathy the rest of the world was given), that he’d share _something_ with her, but he didn’t know how to open that door. 

“Margo…” He barely managed not to look away from her, and whatever she saw in his face caused a sliver of sympathy to creep into her eyes. 

She sighed loudly, smoothing her hands down his vest as she pouted up at him. “Fine. I’ll walk into this blind. For you. But don’t get bitchy when I start asking questions.” 

“Promise,” he said, trying to smile as he covered her hands with his own. 

Once he felt presentable, the two of them rode down to the lobby again to find Amelia already waiting on the ridiculously large sectional that still only took up one corner of the front room, her long hair piled in a frizzy bun on top of her head and her eyes barely open. Eliot smiled thankfully at her before posting himself near the entrance of the lobby, the glamoured windows of the hotel hiding him from any curious pedestrians that passed. 

He knew Margo was right to be worried; he didn’t know a damn thing about Quentin now. He probably wasn’t in a coven, since the only one on the island besides his own was Marina’s, and he knew most of her witches by sight if not by name. There were a few smaller groups throughout the city, but none with the power or numbers for Eliot to bother learning more about them. 

Still, it was a risk to take Quentin in without knowing who’d attacked him. He was the only caster with any true talent for mending for hundreds of miles, and there was no telling what sorts frequented his store. Eliot and Marina could boast numbers and a fair amount of talent in their covens, but there were other magic users in the city who didn’t seek the security and community of safe houses, their methods often more arcane and sometimes frightening to imagine, if the whispers Eliot had heard over the years held any truth. 

He knew denying Quentin help wasn’t a possibility, though. No matter how he felt (he honestly had no idea how he felt, other than fucking terrified), or what had happened between them, turning his back on the man wasn’t an option for Eliot. He’d done that once, and he remembered the results vividly. 

Todd's car finally appeared on the narrow street, slowing to a crawl as the man tried to fit the vehicle into the small space available in front of the hotel. Eliot straightened his tie and tugged at his vest, taking a deep, steadying breath. _Ready or not._

Odds were in favor of not. The last time he’d seen Quentin, Eliot had been hungover and coming down from a cocktail of drugs, barely awake and with his head throbbing like an infected tooth. But he remembered the tears in Quentin’s eyes, how pale and fragile and broken he’d looked as he’d sadly shaken his head and walked out of Eliot’s life. Any impression he made today would be infinitely better than his last, but knowing that didn’t really set him at ease. It was an incredibly low bar to clear. 

Eliot hadn’t had time to form any expectations on what seeing Quentin again would be like, and he felt paralyzed as he watched Kady step out of the car and start maneuvering Quentin—who was clearly unconscious—from the back seat. Eliot’s breath caught in the back of his throat as he caught a glimpse of the man’s face before it dropped against Kady’s shoulder, his now long hair obscuring his features. Kady paused, waiting for Todd to come around the car to take some of the man’s weight, and watching the two of them nearly drop Quentin on the curb, Eliot found himself suddenly able to move. He quickly stepped outside and ushered Todd out of the way, touching Quentin for the first time in over half a decade to wrap his arm around the man’s waist, using a touch of his telekinesis to assist in carrying him. 

“Just a sec, let Kit get out,” Kady said, and Eliot paused, looking over his shoulder to watch a tiny blonde girl jump out from the backseat, a brightly colored backpack resting on her shoulders. 

Quentin’s daughter. 

Kady stretched to grab another bag from the backseat and Eliot adjusted his hold on Quentin to allow her to settle the bag’s strap on her shoulder. 

“Todd, the door?” he asked, his voice sounding flat and weak to his own ears, but the man rushed to comply without question, holding open the door for them to shuffle inside. The child ran ahead, stopping in the center of the lobby to wait for them. 

Kady and Eliot carried Quentin to the corner of the large room, resting him in the bend of the sofa, the little girl scrambling up onto the cushions to be close to her father. 

Eliot hardly noticed her, his eyes fixed on Quentin’s still form. He looked… too familiar, like hardly any time had passed at all. His hair was longer, and he seemed thinner than Eliot remembered, but the sight of him was already starting to pry open a door that Eliot had nailed shut years ago. He suddenly felt ridiculous in his own clothes, like Quentin would wake at any moment and laughingly ask him what the hell he was so dressed up for. He briefly considered leaving, letting Amelia heal Quentin up and asking Kady to send them on their way afterwards. No one but Margo would know what a coward he was. 

But Quentin had been attacked, in what was loosely considered to be Eliot’s part of the city. He couldn’t let his fear cloud his judgment. If word got around he’d ignored a threat, he’d have more to deal with than facing his ex-boyfriend. 

“Why are you staring like that?” 

Eliot looked away from Quentin to find his daughter (Kady had said her name was Kit, hadn’t she?) looking at him with large, blue eyes. 

Eliot didn’t pay much attention to children as a rule, but he had to admit the girl was adorable, and he smiled softly at the very familiar shape of her eyes and mouth, though it made something undefinable twist painfully within him. 

“I… just haven’t seen him in a long time, is all. We used to be, um. Friends.” 

“Oh. He’s okay, though?” 

“He’ll be fine,” Eliot promised, hearing the familiar sound of Margo’s heels on the tiled floor behind him. He turned to find her eyeing Kit somewhat warily, but her gaze went cool and unimpressed as she studied Quentin. 

“So, this is him?” 

“It is,” Eliot said, stepping back and gesturing for Amelia to take over. 

Margo arched one perfectly manicured brow. “He’s not even that cute.” 

Eliot rolled his eyes, but knew if Margo was up to teasing him, things would be okay between them. Having her near also steadied him, made that uneasy feeling like he’d traveled back in time ease off enough for him to shrug it away. He belonged in these clothes, in this hotel, and with a handful of his witches waiting to learn their next move. 

Except for Amelia, who already knew hers, and Eliot watched as she approached Quentin and Kit carefully. “Havin’ a bad mornin’?” she asked Kit in her soft Tennessee twang. 

The little girl nodded, looking around at all the adults gathered around her and her father. 

“Well, I’m here to fix your dad up, if you don’t care. Can I take a look at him?” 

Kit nodded again, leaning away from Quentin’s arm a bit, but Eliot noticed her hand was still firmly clutching the sleeve of his thermal shirt. Amelia lifted her hands to peer at Quentin through the window of her fingers before she shot Kady a crooked smile. “You didn’t miss anything.” 

“Miss what?” Eliot asked. 

“He’s got a little skull fracture and a couple of broken ribs,” she explained, glancing at Eliot over her shoulder. “I can fix it, but I’ll probably need two tries. I hope someone has some Advil on hand in between.” 

Kit’s pensive little face turned worried. “I didn’t pack that.” 

Kady pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “I think we’ve probably got some,” she assured the girl. 

Kit turned her attention back to Amelia, watching the woman use her healing magic on Quentin’s injuries. She focused on his ribs first and Eliot watched the man twitch as he was put back together internally. Afterwards, she cupped her hands around the back of Quentin’s head, closing her eyes and murmuring softly as she worked to knit the bone back together. Eliot had been dealing with telekinesis for over half of his life, but healing magic freaked him right the fuck out. Truthfully, anything dealing with bones or blood sickened him and he had a difficult time hiding it. He barely managed not to cringe when he heard the small crackle that was definitely Quentin’s skull being forced back into place, but was distracted as he watched the man’s eyes fly open, a sharp gasp sounding from his lips. 

**Quentin**

The first thing to register as Quentin jerked into consciousness was the light around him had grown much brighter, and he squinted against the harsh glare that pierced his eyes. 

The second was definitely _pain._

Also, someone was touching him. He could feel warmth at the base of his head, like someone was cradling it in their hands. 

“‘Mornin’, sunshine,” a feminine voice spoke, and Quentin felt the slide of what had to be fingers over his hair. 

“What?” Quentin blinked several times, his vision clearing enough to see a woman standing over him with skin the color of mocha and wide green eyes full of humor. “Sorry. Um. Who are you?” 

The woman’s plump lips turned up in a smile. “Name’s Amelia. I healed you up.” 

Quentin frowned for a moment before the events of that morning caught up with him. Fuck. _Kit._ Where the fuck was Kit? “Where’s Kit?” he asked, his eyes darting around the bright room, and was that an actual crystal chandelier? Where the fuck was he? 

“Daddy, I’m here.” 

Feeling a little tug on the sleeve of his shirt, Quentin turned to his right and winced at the lance of pain that shot through his skull. He scrambled to get his arm around his daughter. God, what had happened? Where were they? 

“Are you okay?” he asked, forcing his eyes open to look her over. She looked exactly the same as she had when he’d last seen her, her hair still a bit tangled where it fell across her shoulders. 

Kit nodded, smiling up at him. “I’m okay. I got away, but Kady brought us here because she said that man could come back.” 

Kady. They were safe, then. 

Looking away from his daughter, Quentin spotted Kady on the far end of the sofa he was resting against, with a petite woman who looked bored and annoyed standing near her in a dress that really didn’t seem appropriate for a Tuesday morning, though she looked stunning in it. 

Next to the annoyed woman was a very tall, slender man with dark… 

_What the fuck?_

The shock Quentin felt was a physical thing; every part of his body seemed to experience a glitch the moment his eyes moved over the man’s face, a face he often tried to forget. His stomach dipped dangerously and the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood to attention as his lungs forgot how to properly function, dragging in just enough air to choke on. He knew he’d suffered some sort of head injury, but no one else in the world had those eyes... 

_“Eliot?”_

Quentin’s heart pounded against his chest when the man gave him a tight, anxious smile, proving he wasn’t hallucinating. “Hey, Q.” 

Through the throbbing of his head, Quentin quickly pieced a few things together as he glanced around the large room, unable to keep his eyes on Eliot. Kady was a hedge witch. Kady had apparently saved Kit from Edwin McAllister and brought him to a place with _Eliot_ in it. 

There was only one possible reason for that. 

Quentin started to sit up, to demand answers, but the sudden movement almost made him vomit, and he collapsed back against the soft corduroy of the sofa, swallowing bile. He felt Kit’s hand on his, squeezing in concern and felt terrible. She’d been through hell and he was making it worse by causing her to worry over him. 

“You’re gonna want to take it easy,” Amelia told him, her large, frizzy bun swaying on top of her head. “I put your head back together, but it still got pretty scrambled. Give me a couple of hours to rest up and I’ll take care of that, too.” 

“Uh, yeah, okay. Thanks.” 

He watched the woman give Eliot _(Eliot)_ a little wave before she walked away, and Quentin saw her pull a dark haired, wide-eyed man he hadn’t noticed before along with her, the two of them disappearing around a corner. 

Looking at Eliot again, he found Eliot looking back at him, his large eyes wider than usual and his mouth drawn into a tight line. His arms were crossed over his chest defensively, and no amount of changes to the man’s hair or wardrobe were hiding the fact that Eliot was silently panicking. He’d known him for too long. 

Eliot’s eyes darted away from his as he cleared his throat, looking at Kady. “So, fill me in here,” he said, his casual tone at odds with the clear anxiety in his eyes, and Quentin had to fight a shiver at the sound of his voice. God, he’d forgotten how easily it resonated; the smooth, lyrical quality of it. 

But he wasn’t about to let Eliot run with this, intoxicating voice or not. “Uh, would someone like to fill _me_ in first?” he asked sharply. 

“I can do both,” Kady said with a lift of her brow, like she was quietly impressed with Quentin’s waspish tone. Embarrassed, he hugged Kit closer to him, his shoulders slouching. “But I really don’t know shit up until I saw Kit climbing out of that car, so it’s not much.” 

Quentin sighed unevenly, twirling the ends of Kit’s hair around his finger, the weight of what had nearly happened settling like a brick in his gut. He’d been worried about fairies for the last five years, and a fucking McAllister had almost taken Kit from him. He hadn’t even had a chance to defend her—he’d been useless. “A car? Did you get her away from him?” he asked Kady. 

Kady shook her head, her eyebrows high on her face. “Nope, she did that all on her own. I was down by the deli and I _felt_ it, whatever she did. Blew out the windows of that car, whatever it was.” 

Quentin wet his lips anxiously. No one outside of Julia and Penny knew anything about Kit’s—abilities, but even knowing what he did, he’d never seen her display anything forceful enough to break glass. 

Kit, however, was looking up at him sorrowfully. “I know you said not to do magic without you there, but I didn’t know what to do,” she told him, her voice trembling. 

“No, hey, it’s _fine,”_ he promised her softly. “If you’re in danger, you absolutely do magic, okay?” 

“‘Kay,” she said softly, relief filling her eyes. 

“Anyway,” Kady continued, “I barely got her out of the car before it took off, and then I called Eliot and brought you here. What the fuck happened before that?” 

Quentin didn’t answer, stuck on the fact Kady had called Eliot. 

Swinging his gaze towards Eliot, he looked at him accusingly. “How long have you been a hedge?” 

Eliot’s expression tightened on his face, but it didn’t hide the guilt in his eyes. “Since I was fourteen,” he admitted quietly. 

Quentin let out a burst of air, shocked. Eliot had been twenty when they’d met, starting college later because he’d dropped out of high school and had earned his GED instead. Quentin knew he’d run away from home at fourteen. He knew he’d been homeless several times. But he’d never once mentioned he knew _magic._

It made Quentin wonder—all those times he’d been worried, or suspicious, or flat out panicked when Eliot didn’t respond to his voicemails or texts for days… Sometimes he’d shown up at Quentin’s dorm room or apartment with a wild story to tell to explain his absence, but other times, he’d looked so fucking scared, like he’d known Quentin had every right to dump him on the spot, like he’d been _expecting_ it, falling limp against Quentin when he’d just hug him instead of voicing the accusations that had been building in the man’s absence. 

Had it not been another guy? Or guys? Had it actually been a coven keeping him away? But—why had Eliot hidden it from him? 

Looking around the enormous room with its dark, tasteful wallpaper and all the adjectives he would have used at one time to describe Eliot Waugh—decadent, inviting, and definitely extra, he focused on Eliot again. “You… this is your place?” 

“Look, you two can catch up later,” the tiny woman in the red dress spoke as Eliot was opening his mouth to reply. He promptly closed it, deferring to her. “Who’d you piss off?” 

Quentin didn’t appreciate the woman’s interference. “Excuse me, but who the hell are you?” 

She surprised him by smirking, looking amused with his shitty tone. “Margo. Second in command here. And I’m not sure you’re cute enough for the attitude, but feel free to convince me.” 

Quentin frowned, taken aback. What the fuck was she talking about? Sighing, he turned to Eliot. “I’m assuming you’re first, then?” 

Eliot nodded, standing a bit taller as he unfolded his arms. “That’s right. And it _would_ be helpful if we knew who attacked you. Did you recognize him?” 

Quentin glanced between Eliot, Margo, and Kady. He had a choice here. He knew he needed help, and he’d been planning to ask Kady for hers. Even if seeing Eliot again was overwhelming, he figured he could probably trust him. 

God, wouldn’t Julia have a field day with that conclusion? 

“It was Edwin McAllister,” he replied, unsurprised when Margo’s eyebrows shot up. “Heard of him?” he asked, an edge of sarcasm in his voice. 

Margo scoffed. “Everyone with magic in the state of New York knows the McAllisters,” she said. 

Quentin glanced at Eliot. “Do any of you ever work for them?” 

Eliot arched an intrigued brow, but it was Margo who replied. “We’re hedges, I don’t think they’d exactly lower themselves.” 

“I’ve heard talk that they have,” Eliot told her before meeting Quentin’s eye again. “But no, we don’t associate with them. I’m assuming you do?” 

Quentin shook his head, which caused his vision to swim for a moment. “No. I met a couple of them when I went to Brakebills, but I’d never spoken to Edwin until this morning.” Remembering Kit was with him, silently pressed into his side, he glanced around at the other adults. “Is there, uh, somewhere Kit could hang out, maybe?” 

“Daddy, no!” the girl cried, clinging to his arm. 

“Kit, stop,” he said calmly. “You’re fine, and I’ll come get you in a little bit, okay? We just need to talk about some grown-up things.” 

“But I’m scared,” she said in a small voice, trying to tuck her face into the fold of Quentin’s sleeve. 

Quentin nearly rolled his eyes, fighting a smile as he pulled his arm away to look Kit in the eye. God, he loved this kid; every scheming inch of her. “Katherine Eliza, are you lying to me?” he asked her. “Your father? Who is _injured?”_ Kit’s eyes were huge as they peered up at him, all innocence, but after a moment he caught the telling little quirk at the corner of her lip as she tried not to grin. “Yeah, thought so. You just love gossip.” 

Kady laughed as Kit pouted, defeated. “C’mon, kid,” she said, standing to lead Kit out of the room. “We’ll just be down the hall,” she informed Quentin. 

Margo took the woman’s vacated seat, leaving Eliot to stand alone. Quentin saw him glance at the other end of the couch before seeming to decide against it, resting his weight on one leg as he fidgeted with the rings on his fingers. It was surreal, seeing those hands again, seeing _Eliot_ again. And Jesus, he looked good. Like _stupidly, unfairly_ good. He’d grown his hair out, and his curls brushed against his cheekbones now instead of curling over his ears. His outfit also looked like it cost more than what Quentin made in a week, possibly two. Quentin did find himself already missing the man’s glasses, even if the absence of them made Eliot’s large eyes even more striking. 

“So,” Quentin began, scooting towards the edge of the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his hands curled together in front of his face, forcing himself to ignore his stubborn attraction to the man that had hurt him so badly while also trying not to sink back into the sofa and curl up in pain. His head was killing him. “The guy that came in today—Edwin. He had a fairy with him.” 

Eliot only looked confused by Quentin’s statement, but Margo’s eyebrows shot up immediately. “Are you fucking serious? Like—from the actual Fillory?” 

Quentin nodded, a bit surprised. “You know about them?” 

“I mean, I’ve _read_ about them.” 

Wait, what the fuck? “Read about them? Where? They’re not in any of the novels, and I haven’t seen any—” 

Margo held a hand up, cutting him off. “You show me yours first,” she ordered, though he thought he caught a hint of amusement in her dark eyes. “How’d you see it, anyway? I thought fairies were only visible if you made a deal with them.” 

"That’s—a long story. The thing is, Kit saw her. And Edwin noticed. He knocked me out right after that.” 

“Okay, but why would he want the kid just because she could see a fairy?” Eliot asked, squinting. 

“I’m not totally sure,” Quentin said, hesitantly looking his way. Margo was much easier to focus on, because while she was also unbelievably attractive, Quentin had never had her dick in his mouth, which just—made things less awkward, really. 

“And why the fuck would Edwin McAllister have a fairy following him around?” she asked, eyes narrowed. 

“I, um. I can answer that one,” he said. It was now or never, and Quentin was _tired._ Maybe if Margo knew about fairies, she’d have the information he was looking for, or at least a lead. He’d take a crumb at this point. “The McAllisters have fairies that they keep as slaves. There’s about thirty of them, or there were the last time we took count.” 

Margo’s brow puckered in disbelief. “Wait, _how?_ Aren’t fairies super powerful, or something?” 

“It was some sort of deal,” he explained. “I don’t know all the details. I can see them because I made a deal to try to free them. Kit was part of that deal, and that’s probably why she can see them, too.” Quentin felt that explaining Kit’s abilities at the moment would make things far too confusing. 

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Margo asked, clearly appalled. “Fairy deals are fucking stupid; they always favor the fairy.” 

“I didn’t have a choice,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair and cringing when he snagged his fingers in what had to be drying blood. Jesus, he was a mess. “The fairies in Fillory, they had Kit. It was the only way to get her back. And if I don’t figure it out by the time she’s seven, she goes back there. Forever.” He said the last word so quietly, he wasn’t even sure they’d heard him, but it hurt to admit it out loud. 

“Jesus, Q, how old is she now?” 

Quentin turned towards Eliot to find his face slack with shock, his eyebrows pressed together in concern, and it wasn’t helpful at _all,_ the casual use of his nickname. Eliot obviously wasn’t reeling from their little reunion as hard as Quentin was, but it’s not like that was a surprise. Eliot had moved on from their relationship before Quentin had even been convinced it was over, and he’d told himself time and time again that it was what he’d wanted for him—something less painful, something easier. 

“She’s, um, five,” he replied, looking away in shame because Eliot was right to look shocked. He should have found a solution by now. “We haven’t been able to find _anything,_ past where they’re being kept. Edwin came in with a necklace he wanted repaired. The fairy had one on, too and I was hoping I could figure something else out from it? Julia, she teaches at Brakebills now, and we were hoping that would lead us to something, you know? But she hasn’t found anything helpful, and the McAllisters are on the fucking _board,_ so it’s, like, hard for her to even look for anything. We can’t find anyone with a fucking Library card, a-and why is it so hard to even get one? I mean, I’m a dropout, but Julia—” 

“You dropped out?” Eliot interrupted, head tilted slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest again, putting his exposed forearms on display. Quentin looked away, because fuck, did he remember those arms. 

“Uh, yeah. I had to, when Kit was born. I mean, my dad helped out a lot, but it wasn’t like I was just going to leave him to raise her while I finished school.” 

“Where the fuck’s her mom?” Margo asked, and Quentin watched Eliot’s eyes close briefly, obviously unhappy with her prying. 

“She’s dead,” Quentin answered, watching Eliot look awkwardly towards the floor while Margo only waited for him to elaborate. “She, um, she didn’t want Kit? She wanted to finish school, and I don’t think she wanted kids at all, really. We—we fucked up the circumstances for the contraceptive spell when we were in the fairy realm.” 

Margo sat back slightly, pulling an impressed face. “You fucked in the fairy realm?” 

Quentin laughed softly, tucking his hair behind his ear. “I mean… yeah? We were there a lot, for a while. Penny took us there by accident once. He’s Julia’s boyfriend, and a Traveler. But after we found it, we were there all the time. She, um… Do you know what a Niffin is?” 

Margo nodded, her expression turning more serious. “Are you saying the kid’s mom…” 

“Yeah. She—she didn’t want Kit, and that was fine. But a few months after I left school, she called and said she wanted to try.” Quentin looked away from her, trying to keep a lid on his emotions. Even now, thinking of what Alice had done, had _tried_ to do, made him tremble with anger. “She said she was taking Kit to visit her parents for the weekend, but she didn’t come back. She never even spoke to her parents. We found her in the fairy realm a few days later. She’d tried doing a spell to reverse time, Julia said. All the components were still there.” 

“Holy shit,” Margo breathed. “You mean she tried to unmake your kid?” 

He nodded, daring to meet Margo’s eyes and surprised to find them full of empathy. “I don’t know why she thought she could. She wasn’t any type of horomancer; she didn’t even have the equipment. But that’s how the fairies got a hold of Kit. I didn’t have a choice. But maybe if I can study that necklace, it’ll tell me something.” 

“I’ll send someone for it,” Eliot spoke up, finally giving in and taking a seat on the other end of the sofa. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be there right now.” 

Quentin gave him a pointed look. “I kind of live there,” he reminded the man. “I’d say Kit could stay with Jules until this blows over, but she probably shouldn’t go anywhere near campus right now. I’m decent at wards; I could probably do something that I’d only have to check every couple of hours.” 

Margo looked towards Eliot, and Quentin watched the two of them take part in a silent exchange that he hoped wasn’t meant to be subtle, even if he didn’t understand it. He and Julia often did the same thing, but usually just to make fun of people they spotted out in public or to keep Kit out of their conversations. 

Margo’s gaze swept back to him, a small smile curling her lips. “Look, this place used to be a hotel. And no offense, but your wards probably aren’t shit against a McAllister. You can crash here until we figure something out.” 

Quentin was floored by the offer, but wasn’t sure he understood what she meant by it. “I—I don’t know when this _will_ be over,” he admitted. “I don’t know why they tried to take Kit, or me. Until I can break the deal somehow, if that’s even _possible,_ I can’t really put a time frame on this.” 

Margo shrugged. “Exactly. And I don’t really see you managing to keep yourself or your kid out of trouble for that long, not on your own. So, you’ll stay here.” Before Quentin could respond, she held up her hand to stop him. “I also happen to have a Library card.” 

Quentin’s mouth fell open, all of Julia’s arguments against covens ringing through his thoughts, and he wanted to choke her. He wanted to dial her number right there and tell her he managed to find someone with access to the Library, by talking to a _hedge witch, thank you very much._

“Seriously?” he croaked. 

She nodded, a conceited little smile on her face as she watched him flounder. Quentin didn’t even care. With access to the Library, he had a real chance of finding answers. “Could we… would you take me?” 

Margo shook her head immediately, her smile disappearing. “Bad idea,” she told him. “Time is fucked in the Neitherlands, and I don’t think you want anyone here babysitting for that long. Two hours there is like two days here. But I can go for you, if that works.” 

It wasn’t ideal, but Quentin wasn’t about to turn it down. “Y-Yeah, that’d be great. Oh, my god.” He felt himself smiling, something very much like relief washing through him, and Margo’s return smile seemed actually genuine this time. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask Kady for months about her coven, and… thank you. You have no idea.” 

Margo looked to Eliot, and Quentin realized the man hadn’t voiced a single opinion on either of Margo’s offers. “You’re… are you okay with this?” he asked hesitantly. 

Eliot nodded, his eyes warm, though distant and guarded. “Of course. If Margo and I are ever in disagreement, you’ll know.” 

Quentin nodded a bit jerkily, still struggling to keep his eyes on the man for more than a few seconds at a time. If he started remembering things, if he accepted that this was actually Eliot before him… he couldn’t. He needed a bed, and a handful of ibuprofen, and at least six hours to properly freak the fuck out before he could possibly start to process any of it. 

“For now, though,” Eliot continued, standing from his seat. “I think it would be best if we found you a couple of rooms and let you rest. At least until Amelia’s ready to take another look at you.” 

“Yeah, we could actually hear her put your skull back together,” Margo snickered. “El almost puked.” Quentin watched Eliot glare at the woman before rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, he’s, uh—squeamish,” Quentin said before thinking, and Eliot looked a little startled by the comment, as if they’d made some silent agreement not to discuss their past and Quentin had broken it. 

“No joke,” Margo replied, and Quentin was surprised when she offered her his hand, helping him up from his seat. “It was pretty fucking gross, though.” She turned to look at Eliot. “Is it the sixth floor that has those adjoining rooms?” 

“Pretty sure,” he said with a nod. “I think it’s the last two on the right.” 

“Alright. I’ll get the kid and meet you up there. Make sure he doesn’t pass out on the way,” she said, looking Quentin up and down doubtfully before she walked away. Which left him alone with Eliot. Fuck. 

He looked around the room nervously while Eliot picked up his overnight bag and Kit’s backpack from the coffee table. “Is there, like, an elevator?” he asked, looking warily at the wide staircase across the lobby. 

“Yeah, around the stairs,” Eliot told him, and Quentin followed when he began to walk slowly in that direction, giving him time to catch up. Standing up was a new level of hell as far as his headache was concerned, and by the time they reached the brass doors of the elevator, Quentin’s head was absolutely pounding. 

“Q?” 

Forcing his gaze up from the floor, Quentin found Eliot looking at him in concern, holding the door to the elevator. He hadn’t heard it open. “Sorry, my head is just…” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. 

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Eliot suggested, his hand touching Quentin’s shoulder briefly to direct him inside the elevator. “Margo can wait. I think you need to lie down.” 

“Kit,” he argued, hoping that was enough to explain to Eliot why he couldn’t just fall asleep. Kit was full of curiosity and things rarely frightened her, but she had a tendency to get twitchy in new situations. While he didn’t think anything would happen to her with the others, it didn’t really seem all that responsible to leave her alone with them, or to expect them to deal with her if she decided to test her limits with them. “I… I should call Julia, too.” 

“She can definitely wait,” Eliot said, his tone a little clipped as he pressed one of the buttons inside the car. The doors slid shut and Quentin leaned back against the cool metal of the wall, careful not to press against the spot that had so recently been injured. “If she finds out you’re here, that’s going to open a can of worms you don’t really look prepared to deal with.” 

Quentin couldn’t disagree, but something in Eliot’s tone made him open his eyes to focus on him. “I mean, it was a long time ago,” he replied, though it sounded pretty pathetic once he said it. Julia had never liked Eliot, and although his name hadn’t come up in the past few years, he seriously doubted she’d changed her opinion. 

Eliot tilted a wry eyebrow at him. “Right.” He sighed, looking up into the light fixture. “She knows I’m a hedge, Q. You should probably be aware of that before you talk to her.” 

Quentin’s brow furrowed deeply. “What? How?” 

“I ran into her at a magician’s bar, maybe four years ago?” He settled his eyes on Quentin, looking reluctant about it. “She told me to stay the fuck away from you. I really thought she would have bragged about it, but I guess not.” 

Quentin blinked, unable to believe Julia, his _best friend,_ had seen Eliot and never mentioned it. It took a moment for the larger realization to hit him and he huffed out an angry breath. “I can’t fucking believe her,” he growled. 

“You can’t? I don’t see how it’s so far out of the realm of—” 

“No, I mean all the shit she’s been spouting at me since I left Brakebills,” he interrupted. “God, I’ve wanted to join a coven for years, and she’s had nothing but shitty things to say. I wondered how she seemed to know so much, but I’m guessing all she actually knew was that I could run into you.” He shook his head in disbelief, causing his stomach to roll dangerously as his head protested the movement. “Nice to know she was willing to put Kit at risk over a fucking grudge.” He felt tears forming in his eyes and bitterly blinked them away. God, he was exhausted. 

The elevator shuddered slightly as it came to a stop and the doors opened to a patterned blue wallpaper. Eliot gestured for Quentin to walk ahead of him, and he wondered how close he looked to passing out, because the man was definitely hovering. “On your left,” was all he said, however, and Quentin turned appropriately, walking until they reached the end of the hall. Eliot opened the door to the room and Quentin followed him inside to find a very normal looking bedroom, which was a surprise considering the somewhat obnoxious decor he’d seen in the lobby. The walls were a deep, soothing green and the window was covered with thick blue curtains that only let in a small amount of light. 

Eliot placed his bag on the end of the bed, still holding Kit’s by one of its straps as he looked Quentin over worriedly. “I’m a little afraid to leave you alone, even though I know the whole staying awake thing is a myth,” he said, stepping into an open door Quentin assumed was the bathroom. He heard a drawer slide open, then another, and Eliot reappeared with a large white pill bottle. “Jackpot.” 

“What about leaving me alone?” 

Eliot laughed softly, a fond look in his eyes. “You have a concussion. Obviously. I’ll send Amelia up as soon as she feels rested. Setting your bones that quickly kind of took it out of her.” 

“What about Kit?” he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The duvet was soft under his fingers and he wanted nothing more than to just sink into the mattress and sleep for a week. 

“She’ll be fine,” Eliot assured him. “I know we’re dangerous, no-good hedges, but some of my witches are actually kids. Not anyone quite as young, but I’m not completely hopeless, I swear. I’ll put her things in her room and send Amelia up when she’s able, okay?” 

Quentin nodded, feeling useless and just a bit pathetic. “Eliot, thank you for this.” There was so much more he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the words, not with the incessant throbbing in his temples. 

Eliot gave him a crooked smile, looking almost shy. “Get some sleep, Q,” he instructed, disappearing through the door to the adjacent room. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome Home  
**

**Eliot**

****

In the adjoining room, Eliot rested Kit’s backpack on the bed. The room didn’t smell particularly musty, but he also shot off a quick cleaning spell on the space, wishing he’d thought to do the same in Quentin’s room. They’d only finished renovating the floor about a month before, but there had been no reason to clean it since then. Todd, Kady, and Amelia lived in the hotel full-time, but Todd lived on the second floor, and Kady and Amelia stayed on the fourth in opposite corners. The third floor had been renovated months ago, but the fifth was still mostly untouched due to a spell Todd had tried to remove the old plaster walls and had ended up setting them all on _fire._ Eliot couldn’t look at the mess without a vein popping on his forehead, even six months after the fact. Todd was also no longer allowed to “help” with renovations. 

Knowing he didn't have time to deal with the clusterfuck his emotions had knotted into since Quentin had opened his eyes, Eliot didn’t linger in the room, stepping into the hall just in time to hear the faint chime of the elevator. He had no idea how to explain to a small child that her father was more hurt than he’d let on in front of her and she’d be spending the next several hours with strangers, but it topped a very long list of things he needed to do before he could escape to his apartment and the bottle of Blanton’s he kept stored away for a special kind of breakdown. 

Kit looked up at him with her deep-set, all too familiar eyes as she approached, and Eliot found it strange how they could be so blue and still look like Quentin’s. Her entire face was Quentin, down to her tiny frowning mouth. It made something twist inside Eliot, something ugly and bitter. _If I hadn’t fucked up, you wouldn’t be here._ It wasn’t like he didn’t _want_ her to be—she was precious, and seeing Quentin’s relief when he’d set eyes on her had nearly choked him. Still, the girl was a walking reminder of how much better Quentin’s life was without Eliot in it. 

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked. 

“I think he needed a nap,” Eliot said carefully, hoping she wouldn’t question him further. 

Kit looked thoughtful before she nodded up at him. “That’s good. I think he needs lots of naps, but he never takes one. He’s grouchy a lot.” 

Eliot pressed his lips firmly together, not wanting to encourage her by laughing. “We should probably let him sleep, then,” he replied, grateful when the girl smiled in agreement. "You can come back downstairs with us, though. If you want." 

Kit's mouth twisted as she weighed her options. "Can I bring my tablet?" 

"Sure thing," Margo told her, stepping around Eliot to lead the girl to her room for it. Kit seemed eager enough to follow them back to the elevator once she had it in her hands. 

“Are we staying here?” she asked as the doors slid closed to take them back down to the lobby. 

Eliot and Margo exchanged a look over her head before Eliot decided to field the question. “Maybe for a little while,” he told her. “We’re going to try to help your dad with some stuff so it’s safe for you to go home.” 

“Are you really good at magic like Aunt Jules?” 

Eliot barely stopped himself from scowling. Of _course_ Julia Wicker was gifted at magic. She’d probably taken to Brakebills like a duck to water, cosseted by the elitism of such an institution and more than willing to consider anyone not good enough to be offered the opportunity as a lower life form. Remembering Quentin’s sullen expression in the elevator, he wondered exactly what Julia had said to him regarding hedge witches, and how she assumed she knew anything about people like him. 

“I’d like to think I am,” Eliot answered Kit, hoping his smile appeared genuine enough for her to buy it. 

Kit’s eyes brightened. “Daddy says she’s way better than him. She _teaches_ magic.” 

“So do I,” Eliot told her, and Margo grinned as the little girl gasped in surprise. 

“You do? Can you teach me?” 

Eliot frowned down at her. “I thought Kady said you did magic this morning?” 

Kit shook her head quickly. “Not _that_ kind. I wanna do magic with my hands, like Daddy and Aunt Jules and Uncle Pen.” 

Eliot shared a confused look with Margo before looking towards Kit again. “Well, what kind of magic do you usually do?” 

Kit shrugged her shoulders. “Different stuff. Mostly I move things, but I don’t have to use my hands like they do.” 

_“Telekinetic?”_ Margo mouthed silently, and Eliot responded with a face telling her he wasn’t sure. 

“What do you do besides that?” Eliot asked her. Kit gave him an assessing look before she seemed to decide to trust him, tucking her tablet up against her chest and holding it with one arm as she held one small hand out, palm up. She didn’t say a word or make any noticeable movement, but moments later a daisy appeared in her hand out of nowhere. She smiled softly before handing it to Margo by the stem. Margo took it, her lips parted in quiet shock. 

Had a _five year old_ just manifested an object in front of them? Eliot tried to remember the Latin required, and realized he couldn’t even remember half of the circumstances for such a spell. It required the exact location of the object being manifested, along with the elemental properties of the object being pulled. Simply put, it wasn’t a spell worth doing in most cases. And Kit had done it without speaking or shaping the magic at all. Quentin had definitely left something out during their conversation downstairs, and he could only give Margo a subtle shrug when she looked at him with wide eyes. 

“Where’d you get that?” Eliot asked the child, keeping his voice mild and casually curious. 

Kit’s little brow furrowed. “Huh?” 

“The flower,” Margo spoke, twirling the stem between her fingers. “Where was it before? Do you have some at home?” 

Kit shook her head, puzzled. “It wasn’t anywhere, I don’t think. I just make them when I want to.” 

The elevator came to a halt and Margo and Eliot exchanged a wary look as they led Kit through the doors. Both of them had been studying magic for nearly twenty years; creating something from nothing wasn’t _possible._ Kit had to have called the flower from somewhere, but if she didn’t know how she was doing it—well, how was she _doing_ it? 

Setting the issue aside for the moment, Eliot led the way into the dining room of the hotel, where everyone typically spent their time. When he and Margo had started renovations on the building, they’d left the dining room as it was, wanting a large room for the coven to gather and practice spells. The lobby was larger, but everyone seemed to feel more comfortable away from the large windows that looked out onto the street, glamoured or not. There was also more natural light in the dining room, and a long wall to hold all the stolen books they’d acquired over the years, many of them with a Brakebills University stamp inside the cover. 

Eliot glimpsed Kady sprawled across the sofa in the far corner of the room, scrolling on her phone, and Todd at a table near the entrance to the kitchen, finishing what appeared to have been an omelette. Realizing he hadn’t even had a full cup of coffee for breakfast, Eliot clapped his hands together, turning to face Kit and Margo. “How does lunch sound?” he asked. 

“Good,” Kit replied, hugging her tablet to her chest. “I had to have oatmeal for breakfast, and it was gross.” 

“Okay, oatmeal is off the list.” Thinking of what he currently had in the kitchen that might appeal to a child’s palate, Eliot raised his eyebrows. “What about grilled cheese?” 

“Okay!” 

“You are way too excited about bread and cheese,” Margo told her. “Does your dad even feed you?” 

Kit giggled. “Yes. But every time I eat with Aunt Jules, she has lots of vegetables.” 

“Oh, I’m much more fun than that,” Eliot assured her. “Just let me ask Kady something, and I’ll get started, okay?” 

Crossing the room, Kady looked up at him expectantly as he approached. “How’s Coldwater?” 

“Concussed,” he replied. “Hopefully Amelia can fix him up soon. Would you mind running back to Q’s store, though? He said there’s a necklace that Edwin McAllister left for him to repair. I’d like to get a look at it.” 

Kady swung her feet off the couch. “Yeah, I can grab it.” Looking him over, she arched a brow up at him. “You didn’t happen to ask for his keys, did you?” 

Eliot frowned. “Well, shit no.” 

She sighed, a hint of a grin on her lips. “Guess I’ll just have to break in.” 

“Oh, the horror,” he drawled. “Don’t forget to cast an anti-tracking charm on it before you head back here, though.” 

“Yeah, I got it. I might stick around for a while, though. See if anyone’s snooping around.” 

“Good idea,” he told her before returning his attention to Margo and Kit, who’d already seated themself at a table far from Todd’s. Margo couldn’t handle the man’s incessant exuberance before noon, and Eliot often couldn’t handle it at all, but Todd had made himself necessary in their lives rather quickly. He’d been part of the coven before Eliot had taken it over, but he’d never paid much attention to the man until they’d moved to the hotel. 

Eliot wasn’t certain what type of magic Todd excelled at, really. He only knew that the man was sent by the gods when it came to running a place as large as their safe house. The fucked up thing was, Todd seemed to enjoy the everyday tedium of making sure things ran smoothly for the coven. He was the only person living in the hotel to own a car, and he didn’t mind running errands at all. He took care of the groceries, he kept the first floor clean, and he made sure the spells needed to scam their utilities were promptly “paid” every month. He coordinated with the plumbers and electricians when they had to be called in, and also took care of the dry-cleaning. He noticed when spell components were running low and ordered more before they ran out entirely. Margo and Eliot also kept their calendars synced with his, but the man knew their schedules so well he rarely bothered them with questions. 

Todd was a gift. A bright-eyed, annoying gift. (Except for the fucking fire.) Eliot was reminded again of this when he opened the fridge to find four different types of cheese in the appropriate drawer, all wrapped neatly in parchment paper. 

Eliot kept Kit’s sandwich simple, letting it cool on a plate as he added basil and tomato slices to the other two.. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something as simple as grilled cheese, but it smelled amazing as he carried the plates into the dining room and Margo gave him an impish grin as she eagerly bit into the corner of hers. 

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes before Margo looked to Kit. “So, kid. Is this better than your aunt’s vegetables?” she asked, having no idea what a sore subject Julia was for Eliot. 

Kit nodded enthusiastically. “She says me and Daddy eat too much junk. But Daddy says she’s just mad because she doesn’t eat enough bread. And I eat lots of broccoli.” Her brow furrowed. “Are pickles vegetables?” 

Eliot smiled. “Once upon a time, yes.” 

"I eat those, too.” 

“Well, that sounds like a perfectly well-balanced diet to me,” Margo said, tearing off another piece of her sandwich to pop into her mouth before looking to Eliot. “So, what’s the plan here?” 

“Kady’s going to grab that necklace,” he replied. “Are you going to the LIbrary today?” 

“After your boy gives me an idea what to look for,” she replied. 

Eliot gave her a tired glare. “Okay, you can add never calling him that again to your list.” 

Margo’s mouth pulled down. “Jesus, fine.” She glanced towards Kit, who was focused on pulling her sandwich into pieces. “Are you inviting him?” 

Eliot looked at her in confusion before realizing what she was asking. “Oh, um.” He drummed his fingers on the table. He already felt scattered just after seeing Q for a few minutes. Could he really handle seeing him every day? “I—don’t know. Do you think we should?” 

Margo shrugged. “I just met him, El. But he said he’s been wanting to ask Kady, so I just thought maybe you were planning on it. It’s not like we ever turn people down. And I wouldn’t turn my nose up at having the city’s only mender in our pocket.” 

Kit perked up. “Are you talking about Daddy?” she asked. 

“We are,” Margo replied. “Just getting our ducks in a row, munchkin. No worries.” 

Kit didn’t look particularly satisfied with the answer, but continued eating her sandwich, her other hand touching the screen of her tablet to scroll through its apps. 

“I can ask him, see what he thinks,” Eliot told Margo. 

Just then, Kit’s tablet began to chime. Thinking the girl had opened a game of some sort, Eliot wasn’t prepared when Kit lifted the device from the table with a smile, swiping at the screen. “Hi, Aunt Jules!” 

_Oh, shit._

“Hi, baby!” Eliot heard Julia Wicker’s creaky voice speak from the tablet. He nearly grabbed at the thing in panic to end the call, but it was too late for that. Withholding a sigh, he pressed his fingers to his temples, giving Margo a look of warning. “How’s school today?” 

“I’m not doing school right now. Daddy’s taking a nap.” 

“A nap? Isn’t the store open?” 

Kit shook her head. “No. I was a-sposed to call you, but I forgot. This man came in and hurt Daddy and grabbed me, but Kady came and helped, and now we’re at her house. This lady helped fix him, but he still needed to lay down, I guess. I’m eating grilled cheese!” She lifted a piece to show Julia. “Daddy’s friend made it for me.” 

“Kit, who’s with you?” 

Kit looked away from the screen to meet Eliot’s eyes. “I forgot your name,” she said, looking contrite. 

“That’s fine, dear. Can I talk to you aunt?” 

Kit nodded and Eliot reluctantly took the tablet from her hand, swinging it around to look at Julia on the screen. “Hello.” 

Watching Julia’s eyes widen in shock gave Eliot a bit of thrill. _“Eliot?”_

“It would appear so. Q’s fine, by the way. Or he will be. My healer had to split the work to rest up, but she’ll have him good as new in no time.” 

“What the _fuck_ is he doing with you?” 

Eliot gave her an admonishing look. “Tsk, tsk, Miss Wicker. In front of the children?” Knowing this wasn’t a conversation that needed to happen in front of Quentin’s daughter, Eliot carried the tablet with him out through the side door and into the rear courtyard of the hotel. The tablet’s case allowed him to prop it on the patio table as he lit a cigarette from the pack he kept there. “Before you jump down my throat, I didn’t have a choice. Kady’s one of mine, and she called me.” 

“What _happened_ to him?” Julia demanded. 

“Apparently Edwin McAllister realized Kit could see the fairy he brought into the store with him this morning. He knocked Q out and tried taking off with Kit, but she got away. Kady called me and now they’re here.” 

Julia’s pixelated expression was an interesting mix of anger and concern, and Eliot knew she just _hated_ having this explained to her by him. “What was Edwin even doing there?” 

“He brought in a necklace to be repaired. Seems like it was an unfortunate coincidence. But now that he’s on Edwin’s radar, he’s in danger. I offered to let him stay here until it’s… sorted.” 

“Until what’s sorted?” 

Eliot saw the very careful expression she wore, and he gave one of his best condescending smiles. “The McAllisters. The fairy deal. All of it.” 

“He told you.” It wasn’t voiced as a question, and he watched her lips purse angrily. 

_And it’s_ killing _you, isn’t it?_ “He did. He also mentioned that none of you have made any progress for years now, so I’m sending one of mine to the Library tonight to see what she can find to help.” 

Julia made an ugly sound, rolling her eyes. “I guess he paid for that with a tattoo, huh?” 

“Don’t be tacky,” Eliot replied, his tone glib but his eyes warning Julia to tread carefully. “Quentin’s here of his own free will. I’m helping him because I have the means to do so. If he wants to join, he can, but it’s not like I’d make him pay for my help.” 

“Yeah, I think he’s paid for enough where you’re concerned,” she bit out, eyes vicious through the camera lens. 

Eliot glared back at her, tempted to end the call right there, but he wasn’t about to let Julia know she’d gotten to him. “I’ll tell him you called. I’m not sure he’ll call back, though. He seemed pretty pissed when I mentioned our little reunion a few years back.” 

Julia’s eyes rolled on the screen. “Because of course you had to tell him.” 

Eliot shrugged. “I didn’t realize it was a secret,” he said innocently. “But he seems to think all your talk against covens was really just a cover for keeping him from running into me. And knowing he could have had our access to the Library long before now put him a little on edge, I think. But I’m sure you two will work it out.” 

Julia looked furious and Eliot blinked when her face disappeared from the screen. She’d hung up on him. 

Eliot knew better than to consider it a victory of any kind. Julia would find a way to convince Quentin she’d done nothing wrong; she always did. He could only hope that Quentin would be wise enough not to leave the hotel after he spoke with her. He had no doubts that Julia was a skilled magician, but one person wasn’t going to protect Quentin from the power behind the McAllister name. 

Eliot dragged deeply from his cigarette, looking towards the door when it opened and Margo stepped through, shivering in the chill of the November air. “Christ, we need to re-up the weather spells out here.” 

“I like the cold,” he replied, offering her his pack of cigarettes when she sat across from him, but she shook her head. 

“So, you’ve got to give me a little here, El. Who the fuck is this Jules person?” 

Eliot sighed. “Julia Wicker. Quentin’s best friend, who also happens to hate me.” 

“Well, she can go fuck herself, then. You’re perfect and everyone should adore you,” she said immediately, and he loved her for it. “Is she gonna be a problem?” 

“That depends. She could possibly convince Quentin to leave, but I don’t know if she’ll try. He’s also fairly angry with her at the moment, so it could give us some leverage.” Looking towards the door, he frowned. “Where’s the kid?” 

“With Todd. She didn’t look thrilled about it, but I told her we’d be back in a few. I do think we should take him in, El. This is probably gonna take awhile, and none of our people are gonna be comfortable with us taking in a stray and sharing all we’ve got unless he’s _part_ of it, you know?” 

Eliot nodded, wetting his lips. “I’ll ask him. But if he doesn’t want to, I’m not sure I can just kick him out for that, Bambi.” 

“I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue. He needs us. And whatever it is that’s going on with his kid could probably use some looking into, too.” She watched him for several long moments before she spoke again. “All of that aside, if this is something you can’t handle… You’d tell me, right?” 

Eliot wasn’t sure he _could_ handle it—every glance, every word from Quentin had evoked so many memories already, memories he thought he’d dealt with. And yes, he’d dealt with the _relationship_ he’d had with Quentin. He’d gone over it in therapy so much it barely even hurt to bring up now. 

But the relationship wasn’t _Quentin._ How badly everything had ended had nothing to do with Quentin’s gorgeous eyes, or the way his voice broke when he was upset, or the way his thick eyebrows pressed together when he was angry. It had nothing to do with the way his hands moved when he spoke, just as much a part of his speaking as his voice. Eliot had locked all those memories away, only taking them out on very rare nights when he’d had too much to drink and felt like torturing himself. 

Now, he would have to face how strongly everything about Quentin had always affected him, since that very first little frown he’d seen so many years ago that had pulled him into the man’s orbit. 

“I’ll be fine,” Eliot said, flicking ashes from his cigarette onto the ground. “It’s been years, Bambi.” 

Margo tilted her head, her lips pursing together. “It has,” she agreed. “Years where you haven’t dated a soul.” 

“Why would I?” he countered easily. “I learned my lesson, is all. It’s better to keep things short and sweet.” He smirked. “Well. _Brief_ may be a better word.” 

Margo rolled her eyes, which was Eliot’s preferred reaction to his dick jokes, so he considered it a success. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed he’s the exact opposite of the guys you’re brief with, El. Not that he’s not cute, but he definitely seems more high maintenance than anyone I’ve seen you with.” 

Eliot didn’t appreciate the term, even though Margo wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t considered Quentin to be any sort of chore, even if dating him hadn’t always been easy. “I mean, he had his challenging moments,” he admitted. “I just prefer something I don’t have to think about now. I have a lot going on here and I’d prefer to concentrate on that. I like fucking and I like doing it often. The men I see now know what they want, is all. There’s no games to play. We meet, we fuck, we move on with our lives.” He shrugged. “No stress involved.” 

“And by stress, you mean feelings,” she said with a knowing look, sitting back in her chair to rub at her bare arms. Eliot rolled his eyes, casting a quick warming spell in her direction. She grinned happily, ignoring his reaction to the statement. “It’s fine, El. You don’t have to talk to me. I just don’t want him here if it’s gonna fuck you up, is all.” 

“It won’t,” he promised her, hoping he could keep it. “He needs help, and… it’s in the past, right? I’ve figured out the best way to live my life, and having him here isn’t going to change that. It’ll be weird for a few days, and then we’ll adjust.” 

Margo didn’t look convinced, but nodded. “Well, his kid’s cute as fuck. And I’m definitely dying to know what the hell is up with her magic. No kid her age should be able to cast like that.” 

“Agreed. There’s really nothing we can move on until Q’s awake again, though. We’ll figure it out from there.” 

**Quentin**

Quentin woke to a rhythmic knocking against the door of his room. Sitting up, he grunted at the ache still present in his skull; the pills he’d taken hadn’t been all that effective. “You can come in,” he called, rubbing at his eyes. 

The door cracked open, revealing the woman who had healed him that morning, Amelia. Her hair was down now, curling in soft waves that reached down to her waist. “I slept a little longer than I planned to,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “Ready for some pain relief?” 

“That would be great,” he sighed, reaching over to flick on the bedside lamp. “Is it late?” he asked, looking through the curtains to see it had grown dark outside. 

“Just after five,” she told him, taking a seat next to him on the edge of the bed. 

“Jesus, I slept all day? Is Kit okay?” 

Amelia smiled. “Oh, she’s fine. I only saw her for a few minutes before I headed up here, but it looked like she was enjoying her time at the big kids’ table.” She lifted her hands, asking Quentin with a tilted eyebrow if he was ready for her to start, and he nodded, closing his eyes as she placed her hands on the sides of his head. He heard her softly recite what he recognized as Mandarin, and after a few moments, the pain in his head began to dull in increments until it disappeared altogether. 

“You should be good to go now,” she told him, her hands dropping into her lap. “Eliot said to take your time, but the kid’s bedtime is on you.” 

Quentin laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a few,” he promised. 

Left alone, Quentin carefully stood from the bed, relieved to feel no dizziness. The only previous experience he’d had with healers had been at Brakebills, and they’d been much more brutal. He wanted to head straight downstairs, worried over the fact he’d left Kit alone all day, but he could feel the dried blood in his hair, pulling against his scalp. He needed to clean up. 

Finding his black duffel bag at the end of the bed, Quentin opened it to collect a wrinkled set of jeans and a sweater, along with clean underwear, trying not to think of the fact that Kady had been forced to go through his things. In the bathroom he found fluffy blue towels and bath products better than any he had at home, though they’d been used. He briefly wondered who had slept here before him as he stepped under the hot water, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t mind him using their things. 

There was a slight sting as the water hit the back of his head, and it took some time to work the blood out of his hair, but he felt better when he stepped out of the tub. Toweling himself off, Quentin quickly dressed himself and ran his fingers through his wet hair, wishing he had a way to dry it. 

Grabbing his phone from the nightstand where he’d left it to charge just before passing out, his brow furrowing when he saw he missed several texts from Julia. Unlocking his phone, his eyes widened as he read the messages. 

“What the fuck,” Quentin sighed, closing the messages to dial his friend’s number. 

It only rang once. “Q?” 

“Hey. Um, how’d you find out I was here?” 

“I called Kit. And then I had a little chat with Eliot. I’m pretty sure he’s somehow an even bigger dick than I remembered, which I didn’t think was possible.” 

Quentin scowled, wishing she’d chosen _any_ other phrase to describe Eliot. “Okay,” he replied, knowing defending Eliot wouldn’t work in his favor at the moment. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Fine now. There’s a healer here; she just finished up with me.” 

“So, what’s the plan here?” 

Quentin began to pace between the walls of the room. “I mean, I haven’t had a lot of time to talk it over, I was pretty banged up. I know they’re planning on hitting the Library for any books that might help, and god, that’s—already so far past what we’ve been able to do, you know? And I can’t really go home right now.” 

“Q, there’s got to be a better option than you staying there.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Okay. Do you have one? Because I can’t stay with you on campus, and staying at a hotel isn’t something I can afford for more than a few nights. And even if I could, my wards aren’t going to be any better than I can manage at home.” 

“Can’t they go to your place and put new wards up?” 

“Jules, I don’t know a lot about covens, but I know Brakebills, and some of the wards around campus took _years_ to perfect and strengthen. I’m sure it’s not that different here. I can’t just ask them to do that. Besides, it’s a whole fucking hotel. It’s not like I’m sharing a room with Eliot or something. We have a whole floor to ourselves.” 

“You have to know he’s got a reason for helping you. He was never the selfless type.” 

Quentin glared angrily into empty space. He didn’t know how Julia had such different memories of Eliot than he did, but he wasn’t about to dredge up their old arguments, especially when there was no reason for them. “Okay, say you’re right. Do you think I honestly give a fuck? It’s for Kit, Jules. I have less than two years to figure this shit out, o-or have you forgotten that?” 

“Of course I haven’t,” she replied heatedly. 

“Then you should know I’ll do whatever it takes. If it means joining the coven, so be it. You know I’ve wanted to for years, so it’s not like it's some huge sacrifice. Do you know how fucking useless I was today? I got knocked out before I could even throw a _shield_ on her. I know a bunch of text book first year bullshit spells. I could learn real magic here. _Battle magic._ Eliot might not want me to join, and I won’t be surprised. But if he does, I’m going to. And I don’t care what you think about it.” 

Julia was silent for a long moment. “I just worry about you, Q.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, so much you fucked me out of having this chance years ago,” he snapped. “You know, I always wondered how you had any idea hedges were so dangerous, but you didn’t, did you? You found out Eliot was one and that was enough to talk me out of it.” 

“Jesus. Excuse me for thinking the guy I watched snort lines off the bar all night wouldn’t be a huge help to us,” she scoffed. 

“Oh, because he didn’t do it in the restroom like your mom taught you?” Quentin retorted. 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Julia cried. “I haven’t touched—” 

“Yeah, not for years,” he cut her off. “But you can’t accept that maybe he’s changed too, can you? You should have told me you saw him.” 

“Why? Quentin, you’d just had a baby. Alice had just _died._ You didn’t need him around.” 

“Who said he would have been?” 

“Oh, am I supposed to pretend you wouldn’t have gone looking for him? I’m not an idiot.” Julia’s voice was mocking. Quentin had always hated this side of his best friend, her “better than thou” _bullshit._

“It would have been nice to know he was alive, that’s all I’m saying. Beyond that, it— wouldn’t have been any of your business.” 

“No? Should I remind you how all that ended, Q?” 

Quentin clenched his jaw angrily, his grip tightening on the phone. “That had _nothing_ to do with him. I have _depression,_ Julia.” 

“So you’re trying to tell me all the times you sat and worried where he was and why he wasn’t answering his phone _helped?_ I’m not blaming your issues on him, I’m trying to make you see that he made them worse. You shouldn’t have trusted him then, and there’s nothing you can say to me to make me trust him now. Have you not noticed that you haven’t been admitted since he was out of the picture?” 

“Yeah, because I have a _child,”_ he told her. “Do you think I haven’t wanted to? Or didn’t need to be? Do you really think it never got that bad again?” God, was she blind? “I barely made it that first year after Alice, Jules. When Kit had colic I thought I was going to fucking lose it. If Dad hadn’t been around, I would have. And losing him… if there had been anyone around then, I would have admitted myself in a second.” 

“You never said—” 

“You’d just started teaching, did you think I was going to drop Kit off and check myself in? Of course not,” he nearly shouted. Hearing his voice bounce off the walls, he sighed. “I handled it,” he continued more quietly. “And you can be pissed off. I don’t care. They’re helping. We’ve got nothing to show for the last five fucking years, Jules. I’m not walking away from this. I’m not losing Kit.” 

“I... think you’re making a big mistake, Q. I know how you are. You’re going to get feelings for him again—” 

Quentin laughed, tears springing to his eyes. “Do you really think I ever stopped?” Did she know him at all? Or was she too busy trying to mold him into the person she wanted him to be? 

Thinking back, he realized he couldn’t blame Julia for not knowing, not entirely. He’d shut her out when it came to Eliot, long before they’d ever broken up, knowing she didn’t like him and hurt by the fact. She’d been relieved to see the relationship end. Quentin had never brought him up once they’d started at Brakebills, and any time Eliot’s name had come up after that, he’d changed the subject, refusing to hear her insult him. It hadn’t happened often. She’d been more than willing to forget. “I moved on, yeah. And whatever comes up, it’s… not important. I’m here for Kit.” 

“I really hope that’s true,” she said, her voice heavy with doubt. “I guess she’s not coming Friday?” 

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea right now,” he said as gently as he could manage, not wanting her to think he would ever withhold Kit from her because he was angry; he’d never do that. “Not with a chance the McAllisters could be on campus.” 

She sighed. “You’re probably right. I can’t believe of all the places Edwin McAllister would walk into, it was your store.” 

“Yeah, no kidding. But he did, and I just—have to deal with it now. And I mean, if it’s getting me access to the Library, I think I can deal with a bump on the head.” He sighed. “I need to go find Kit, though. I’ve been asleep since this morning and they’ve been watching her for me.” 

_“Eliot’s_ been watching her?” Julia asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” Quentin bit out, letting her know in one syllable he was extremely done with her shit. “I’m going, Julia. I’ll text you with anything we find out.” 

Before she could respond, Quentin ended the call and pocketed his phone, taking a moment to breathe through his anger. 

He’d never understood Julia’s hatred of Eliot, and it had been almost instant. She’d immediately labeled him a “fuck boy” and rolled her eyes nearly anytime the man spoke. It had taken Quentin months to understand that Julia couldn’t see beyond Eliot’s tenuous exterior—the smooth innuendos and condescending comments he tossed out to distract others from his own insecurities. It had taken even longer to realize Eliot hadn’t wanted anyone to know who he was underneath—that had been strictly Quentin’s territory. 

It had also been Julia who had given voice to Quentin’s whispering suspicions over Eliot’s frequent disappearances, demanding to know why he wouldn’t leave someone who was very obviously cheating on him. 

_“Q, you’re worth more than this. You deserve someone who doesn’t treat you like an option.”_

He hadn’t believed that at the time, not really. And when Eliot _had_ been present things had been so—not perfect, but wonderful. Vibrant. All of his most intense memories—his happiest, his angriest, his most painful—they all included Eliot. 

Knowing now that Eliot had been a hedge witch the whole time they’d been together brought a confusing element to all his memories. The last time he’d seen the man, he’d found him in bed with someone else, but Quentin had already ruined everything by that point, it had already been over and he just hadn’t wanted to believe it. 

But what about all the other times? All the times Eliot’s phone went straight to voicemail? Or Quentin’s texts sat for days unread? He remembered one night in particular when Eliot had shown up at the apartment with a huge cut across his forehead and had laughed it off, claiming he’d been on a bender and must have fallen down somewhere, but his eyes had contained a very badly concealed terror within them, so desperate that Quentin hadn’t pushed for answers. 

As badly as he wanted to know, Quentin knew too much time had passed. He had no right to demand the truth now. They’d both moved on. 

Leaving his room, Quentin tried to focus on his daughter instead of the fact he had to face Eliot again. He was going to have to get used to it, and Kit served as a distraction for a great many things in his life. The lobby was empty and dim when he arrived on the first floor, but he could hear voices coming from the hall. Following the sound, he saw the hallway ended in a wide doorway, and there were many people in the room beyond it. 

Reaching the room, Quentin took in the large crowd, most of them sitting around tables—talking, reading, casting small spells and practicing Poppers and etudes. He spotted Eliot’s dark hair in the far corner and headed in that direction, excusing himself when he bumped into the chairs of several strangers, some who gave him curious looks. 

Eliot spotted him first, his eyebrows rising and a brief look of panic crossing his face before settling into a polite smile. _Same,_ Quentin thought before he looked away to find Kit on the other side of the table, as close to Margo as she could get without crawling into her lap, the two of them looking at something on the girl’s tablet. There were half-empty cartons of Chinese take-out littering the table, and Quentin’s stomach rumbled at the sight. 

“How’s your head?” Eliot asked, which caused Kit and Margo to look up at him. 

“Daddy!” Kit cried, her eyes lighting up. “You took a really long nap!” 

“Uh, yeah,” he laughed, running his fingers through his damp hair. “I’m feeling a lot better,” he said, not looking at Eliot as he answered. “Was she okay?” he asked Margo. 

“Please, she’s an angel,” the brunette told him. “We played Mario Kart and now we’re dress shopping. It’s the best date I’ve ever had.” 

Quentin groaned through a smile. “Please don’t encourage her to do any form of shopping,” he pleaded. There were controls on Kit’s tablet preventing purchases for a reason. 

Margo smirked. “Well, it’s your fault she doesn’t own a single shiny dress. Someone has to correct that.” 

Quentin rolled his eyes, sliding out the free chair between Eliot and Margo to sit. 

“Oh, there’s food for you in the kitchen,” Eliot told him before he lowered himself into the chair, looking up from the book he had open on the table. “It’s probably still warm, we just finished ours.” 

“Oh? Um, thanks.” Feeling a little useless, Quentin looked around, spotting an open doorway to what he assumed was the kitchen. There weren’t as many tables to step around on his way, and he exchanged a wave with Kady as he made his way past her and into the room. He smiled when he saw the takeout bag on the counter with a note scrawled on the back of the stapled receipt in red marker, reading “BACK OFF,” definitely not in Eliot’s handwriting. 

Opening the tell-tale white carton inside, Quentin was surprised to see his favorite order instead of something more generic, like fried rice. There were also several spring rolls in a paper bag that had been left for him. 

He laughed softly, feeling ridiculous when he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. During their sophomore year midterms he and Eliot had practically lived on Chinese food, and he’d always ordered the same damned thing. Eliot had teased him every time, claiming he had no sense of adventure before giving Quentin a very suggestive look, because they’d both known that wasn’t exactly true. The fact that Eliot had remembered his exact order after so many years… 

He took a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to start crying over something as idiotic as take-out, opening several drawers before he found the silverware (people who ate with chopsticks were masochists). Once he felt it was safe, he carried the food back to the table, giving Eliot a brief smile of thanks before settling down to eat. 

Margo handed Kit’s tablet back to her and crossed her arms over the table. “So, I’m going to need a list of shit to look for when I head to the Library,” she told him. “I can leave tonight.” 

“Oh, um.” He glanced at Kit, who was currently still invested in whatever was on her tablet screen. “You haven’t, uh, mentioned the “F” word today, have you?” 

Before Margo could respond, Kit answered. “Oh, Margo says the “F” word a _lot._ Like, more than Uncle Pen.” 

Eliot snorted quietly, shooting Quentin an apologetic but amused glance, but he only shrugged. Managing Kit’s magic had been difficult enough without censoring every word she might hear on top of it. Especially with someone like Penny in her life. 

“The other one,” Quentin clarified. 

“It hasn’t come up,” Eliot assured him. 

“Okay, good. That talk hasn’t, um, happened yet?” 

Margo smirked. “Fine. So, we’ll leave that out right now. I’m gonna try to find anything about _them,_ though. And deals, I guess?” 

“Anything on their magic at all would be good. God, there’s so much I’ve wanted to look up, I can’t even think. But…” He wet his lips anxiously, poking at the noodles in his carton with the fork. “I think maybe she has some of that, somehow. Like maybe just being there gave it to her? Or they gave it to her when they had her?” He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the fairy queen’s claws cradling Kit’s infant head. “I mean, it didn’t give the rest of us anything extra, but I don’t have another theory for what she does.” 

Eliot chuckled, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, we got a little demo earlier.” Seeing Quentin’s panicked expression, he waved his hand. “Just us, no one else. And nothing dangerous. Just, um, interesting.” 

Quentin sighed. “Okay. I mean, Kady knows and that’s fine, and of course it’s fine you guys know, but I’d rather not advertise it beyond that.” 

“That’s fair,” Eliot told him before he looked towards Margo. “What about the McAllister books?” 

Margo tilted her head slightly, nodding. “That’s an idea. We could get the low-down on how this shit started.” 

“The McAllisters have books?” Quentin asked, confused. 

Eliot shook his head, looking mildly disgusted. “Everyone has a book,” he explained. “You, me, that asshole that’s always screaming about bed bugs down on Suffolk.” 

Margo laughed. “Eliot really takes him personally.” 

Eliot gave her an affronted look. “He spilled coffee on my favorite jacket.” 

Margo rolled her eyes. “Which you spelled away as soon as we turned the corner. Get over it, you baby.” 

Eliot glared at her before turning his attention back to Quentin. “Anyway. Every person has a book, with all the sordid little details of their lives in it from beginning to end.” 

Quentin was horrified. “Jesus, that’s—” 

“Disgusting?” Margo supplied. “You bet. I’m never reading mine. I plan to go out in the middle of an orgy I’m too old to be participating in. Anything else will be a disappointment.” 

“What’s an orgy?” Kit asked, looking up from her tablet. 

Quentin raised his eyebrows expectantly at Margo, who pressed her lips together, clearly more amused than ashamed. 

“It’s a party for grownups,” Margo said simply and Eliot scoffed softly, rolling his eyes before he looked towards Quentin. 

“There’s something else, but…” He looked around the room, then at Kit. “Care to step outside?” 

“Uh, sure.” Setting his food aside, Quentin stood to follow Eliot to a door near a long, shining oak bar that took up the majority of one wall, seemingly left over from the building’s days as a functioning hotel. Stepping outside, Quentin was surprised to find half a dozen people in what appeared to be a mostly enclosed patio area. Looking around, the space was surrounded on three sides by brick, with a tall, iron fence bordering the alley beyond. Two tall trees stood sentry near the gate, and his eyes widened when they caught sight of a spiraling iron staircase that led up to the second floor of the hotel, connecting to a balcony. 

“We can go over here,” Eliot told him, leading Quentin under the balcony and away from the other hedges. It was also away from the security light affixed near the door, and very dark. Quentin could barely see Eliot as he fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, quickly snapping it to light. “Still smoke?” 

He held his hand out, and Eliot handed him a cigarette instead of the pack, their fingers brushing momentarily and sending a trail of sparks through Quentin’s arm. “Uh, sometimes. Not as much. Kit hates it.” He snapped his fingers, calling fire to the end of the cigarette, and inhaled gratefully. 

“I didn’t want to mention it in front of her, but Kady brought the necklace back. She didn’t have any trouble finding it, but she was followed on the way back. She managed to give them the runaround, but it took a few hours. Someone’s definitely got their eye on the store.” 

“I mean, it’s not surprising. If Edwin wanted Kit just for being able to see that fairy, whatever she did to get away from him probably only made him more determined.” 

“I also took a look at the necklace. A lot of it is a clusterfuck to me, but there’s definitely a blood-letting spell on it.” 

Quentin met Eliot’s eye, barely visible in the dim light. “Seriously?” 

He nodded. “So, deal or not, there’s something fucked up going on.” 

“Fuck, that’s insane. You didn’t see anything else?” 

“Nothing I understood. I’d need someone with better comp skills than me to really look at it, and I’m not keen on letting anyone get their eyes on it. It’ll cause questions.” 

Quentin closed his eyes, reluctant to voice the suggestion that immediately popped into his thoughts. “Um. Well, there’s someone that’s really skilled at composition, who already happens to be in on everything,” he said before taking another drag. 

Eliot gave him a flat look. “Christ. Julia?” 

Quentin nodded. 

Eliot’s eyes rolled and he sighed up at the balcony. “Figures. I assume you two have talked?” 

“Uh, yeah. If you wanna call it that. She’s pissed, I’m pissed. It’s—whatever. I told her I’m staying.” 

Eliot blinked, unable to hide his surprise. Quentin couldn’t exactly blame him for that. “That’s probably for the best. I’m sure she’ll… adjust to the idea.” 

He let out a sarcastic laugh. “Right.” 

Eliot grinned in response. “Hell, she thought I’d already pinned you down and tattooed you when I talked to her. I really do aspire to be as evil as she believes me to be.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Quentin said dryly, tapping ashes onto the ground. “I mean, I told her…” He wasn’t sure how to proceed. He didn’t want to pressure Eliot at all. “I told her if it was an option, I’d take it. B-But that I’d also get if it, um. Wasn’t.” 

Eliot was silent for a moment and Quentin studied his feet, waiting for the hammer to fall. “Margo and I talked about it. I think it’d be best if you did join. If you wanted to. I still wouldn’t want any of your—issues being advertised to the others, though. The coven’s too large to vet everyone as thoroughly as I’d like. Anyone who lives here can be trusted, but outside of that, I’d rather not risk it. But if you join, people won’t question your presence, at least. What are you interested in learning?” 

Quentin exhaled smoke into the cold night air. “I mean, everything?” He laughed quietly. “I’d really like to learn some battle magic. I was useless today.” Eliot gave him a look, obviously unhappy with the statement. “I _was._ Brakebills restricted so much shit, and I only finished my first year. I’ve got the foundation, but I’ve never really gone beyond that.” 

“Q, you’re the best mender in the area.” 

“Yeah, but that’s just my discipline. It’s easy for me.” Eliot’s nose wrinkled a bit. “What?” 

He looked hesitant to speak. “I’m… not the biggest supporter of disciplines. Not the way Brakebills explains them, anyway.” 

Quentin looked at Eliot in confusion. “What do you mean? Mending is _obviously_ my discipline. Don’t you have one?” 

“Oh, I’m telekinetic,” Eliot replied casually, flicking his cigarette. “I do believe some things come easier than others. I just think the way Brakebills divides people is restrictive, that’s all. Amelia went there and dropped out. She was a Nature student, because she was amazing with plants. But it turns out that ability wasn’t limited to plants, and now she’s one of the best healers in the city. All I’m saying is, mending for you may not be limited to objects. Who knows? You could find you can mend plants, or _people._ If I’d gone there, I’d probably be strictly focused on my telekinesis. But in all honesty, I’m nearly as good with fire as I am moving shit with my mind, so.” He shrugged. “But Kady’s our battle magic expert. She can work with you on that, after I deal with your testing.” 

“How’s that work?” 

“It’s awful,” he groaned. “It’s boring and tedious and I hate it. Basically, we keep spells separated by levels. Not every spell we have, because that would be insane, but enough to get an idea for what someone is capable of. You’ll cast every spell in each level. When we reach spells you can’t cast, I’ll determine what level you’re at.” 

“That does sound awful,” he agreed. 

“It takes hours.” He frowned. “Is Kit in school?” 

Quentin shook his head. “She’s home-schooled. I couldn’t risk sending her off to class, not with her magic. We just started a couple of months ago, though.” Eliot nodded. “Is it, um, gonna be a problem? Her being here?” 

“No, not at all,” Eliot was quick to reply. “I can work with her too, if you want. I’m not sure how helpful it would be, but maybe if Margo finds something on her trip? My youngest right now is eight.” 

“Jeez, eight?” Quentin chuckled. “I can’t believe I was twenty-three. Late bloomer, I guess.” 

Eliot caught his eye, his brows pressing together. “Q. You, um. You had magic. Back then. God, I think it was only a few months after we met that I noticed.” 

Quentin’s mouth fell open. “Wait, what? Why didn’t you..?” 

“I couldn’t,” he replied, looking out into the courtyard, where someone was firing off a small fireworks spell in the shape of a dolphin. “Back then, before I took over, there was a spell. I guess it would technically be called a binding, but we all called it a gag. You couldn’t talk about magic with anyone, not unless they were in your coven. There was a cooperative spell that could be cast when people were from different covens and needed to talk. Otherwise, you just couldn’t say anything. Not about magic, or spells, or any of it.” 

Seeing the guilty look in Eliot’s eyes, the way he refused to look away from the fireworks display, Quentin took a moment to briefly lose control of his carefully neutral expression. God, it explained so _much._ All of those sad, desperate looks he’d received from Eliot when he’d shown up after days of no contact. 

And then he remembered something else, something that stole his breath. 

_“I didn’t even fucking notice how bad it was,” Eliot said softly, looking down at his knees in shame. “I just thought you were pissed at me because I’ve been… busy,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes falling shut as if he were frustrated about something. He looked angry, and Quentin opened his mouth to ask, but then Eliot was looking at him pleadingly. “I promise, that’s over. I’ll—I’ll be around more, okay? But I think we’d all feel better if you just gave it a few more days here.”_

The clinic. God, had Eliot tried to tell him? And Quentin had just… dumped him, so angry that no one would take him _home._

He felt a sob building in his throat and coughed through it, swallowing until the burn began to fade. “That… must have been hard.” 

“I’m not looking for sympathy,” Eliot said softly, turning towards him. “I just thought you should know, you probably weren’t all that behind. Your magic is just more subtle, is all. Maybe you were mending things for years.” 

“Yeah, I doubt that,” he scoffed, stepping forward to crush out his cigarette in a glass ashtray on a patio table. 

“That’s Carmen talking,” Eliot said, sounding a little annoyed under his careless tone, as he always had when Quentin’s mother came up in a conversation. 

Quentin smiled wryly, ducking his head. “I think my dad agreed with her a lot of the time, though. He was just nicer about it.” 

Eliot didn’t speak for a moment and Quentin still didn’t feel quite brave enough to meet his gaze, though he felt it. 

“I doubt that. How is Ted, anyway?” 

Quentin blinked, his breath catching in his chest. 

Eliot didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. How could he? 

“Um.” Looking up, he saw Eliot’s head tilted slightly, confusion wrinkling his brow. “Dad had cancer, Eliot. He passed last year.” 

Eliot’s face went slack for a long moment and Quentin wasn’t sure if he should look away or not when he saw his expression tremble slightly, his eyes going glassy in the dim light before they widened, his jaw clenching so hard it bulged. “Fuck. I-I… Sorry, I—” 

“Don’t be sorry, El. There’s no way you could have known.” 

Eliot nodded, and Quentin’s throat burned again as he caught a glimpse of the man’s chin trembling before he quickly turned away, taking in a deep, uneven breath. 

Eliot had possibly been closer to Quentin’s dad than _he_ had been. He’d loved his dad and he’d never doubted his dad loved him, but they’d never really been able to connect. Eliot had been insanely nervous over meeting Ted, but after a couple of visits the two had gotten along easily, and Quentin had seen a side of Eliot he hadn’t known before that. He'd discussed cars with Ted and shown him how to repair their old lawnmower. They’d argued over the best way to grill steaks while drinking cheap beer together. Everything Eliot had hidden about growing up in Indiana he’d never felt the need to hide in Quentin’s childhood home. Ted had accepted all of him without question, his boyfriend that could change the oil in the car without smudging his eyeliner and would switch the television from the History channel to Entertainment the second Ted left the room for another drink, grinning when the older man would return and sigh, never changing it back. 

Before Quentin could decide if he should leave Eliot alone or try to comfort him somehow, _say_ something, he was turning around again, his eyes wet but his expression once more under control. “I’m... really sorry you lost him, Q.” 

Quentin smiled sadly. “Thanks. Uh, me too.” 

Eliot stepped forward to put out his own cigarette, his eyes rimmed red in the low light. “So, um.” He cleared his throat. “Do you think Kit needs help?” he asked, obviously wanting to change the subject. 

“WIth magic? Um.” He shook his head. “I mean, she seems to do fine? I just wish she’d maybe stop doing it so much? But that’s more of a behavior issue than anything.” 

Eliot nodded, crossing his arms. “What can she do? Because honestly, she freaked Bambi and I out a little.” 

Quentin lifted one eyebrow, confused by Eliot’s nickname for Margo, but choosing not to question it. “What did she do?” 

He shrugged. “Made a flower? Called it? I don’t know.” 

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, she’s been doing that for a while. Julia thinks she actually is calling it, just in some way where she doesn’t have to know the circumstances. And it only seems to work for plants so far? Unless she does know the location. Then, she can call whatever she wants. It’s, um, kind of difficult when you tell your kid she can’t have a toy and find it in her hands once you leave the store.” 

Eliot chuckled. “Shit. Anything… weirder?” 

“I mean, she can make things disappear, too. Sometimes I never see them again. She seems to be telekinetic, too.” Eliot’s brow furrowed a bit at that. “I couldn’t take her out in public, really, not until last year. If she wants something, it winds up in her hands. I don’t know what she did this morning, though. With the car.” 

Eliot frowned, his head tilting a bit to the side. “I’m not positive, but it could have been telekinesis. But if it was, it would require a level of control that’s honestly terrifying to imagine a five year old having.” Off Quentin’s questioning look, Eliot’s brow quirked thoughtfully before he removed his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, placing it on the patio table. “Think of it like a bomb, I guess.” 

Quentin was about to ask him to clarify, but watching Eliot’s eyes go focused and almost blank, he kept his mouth shut, watching the man stare down at the table, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

He caught the slightest twitch around Eliot’s eyes just before the pack flew off the table, but what surprised Quentin more was how the ashtray next to it slid across the glass surface in the opposite direction, slower than the cigarettes but with enough force that Eliot was forced to catch it with his magic, leaving it hovering in the air for a moment before it settled back onto the table. A moment later, Eliot’s cigarettes flew into his waiting hand from somewhere in the dark. 

Quentin was overwhelmed by the sense of Eliot’s magic in the air. It was _powerful,_ calling to mind something bittersweet and fermented, like blackberry wine, but electric. 

_Berries. Blood. Sweat beading on too-pale skin. Eliot’s voice, whispering, whispering, none of it making sense._

Blinking rapidly, Quentin forced himself into the present, just in time for Eliot to turn his way. 

“W-Wait, so you can move more than one thing at a time?” he asked, hoping Eliot didn’t hear the slight break in his voice, the memory leaving his insides feeling scraped and bruised. 

“I _can,_ but that’s not what I did,” he replied, his eyes lingering on Quentin’s just long enough for him to know Eliot had heard him falter, but he looked away, pressing his finger to the table. “I focused here, between the two. It’s hard to explain, but if you shape the energy, and then force it out, it’s more of a blast than just a movement. Make sense?” 

Quentin shrugged. “Kind of? I can’t really do anything past floating shit around, so I can’t really imagine what that’s like.” Imagining his daughter wielding enough force to damage a car, however… “Jesus. If Kit’s getting that powerful…” 

Eliot nodded. “She’ll need help with controlling it. I did.” He chuckled, pocketing his cigarettes. “Teaching a kindergartener meditation sounds like something I’m probably not prepared for.” 

Quentin laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, that’s probably not gonna happen.” 

**Eliot**

When Eliot finally took a moment to breathe later that night, the dining room was empty except for himself and Todd. Quentin had taken Kit upstairs hours ago, and Margo had left for the Library with a worried look and a kiss to his cheek. 

After learning of Ted’s death, Eliot had needed all the distraction his hedges were willing to give him. He’d assisted with cooperative spells, pulled books and binders that were needed, and corrected finger positions, all the while forcing his thoughts aside, but one kept springing up, unwilling to be silenced. 

_You weren’t there._

“I’m heading upstairs, if that’s okay?” Todd called from near the doorway of the dining room. Eliot turned from where he was locking the binders of spells away for the night. 

“Yeah. Thanks, Todd.” 

“Sure thing!” the man replied, only a hint of tiredness to his voice before he disappeared down the hall. 

Once everything was put away for the night, Eliot shut off most of the lights, walking down the long hallway to check the locks and the wards on the front doors before reluctantly stepping into the elevator. It stopped on the topmost floor of the hotel, but the relief Eliot usually felt when he stepped into his apartment was absent that night. It was far too quiet. 

Making his way to the bar cart in his living room, Eliot poured himself a generous amount of scotch before making his way across the room to draw the brocade curtains back from the balcony doors, taking in the view of the city lights across the dark sky as he drank. He shivered and rolled his eyes; for all the luxuries he and Margo had paid for over the past two years, his apartment refused to hold much warmth during the colder months. The building was over a century old, and not everything had been repaired. Eliot had a space heater for the worst nights, and sometimes he simply crept down to Margo’s rooms below to curl around her, because her heat worked just _fine,_ of course. 

Slipping into his bedroom, Eliot undressed quickly, hurriedly shrugging into one of his thicker robes before pouring himself another drink in the living room. Feeling he deserved it, he also lit a cigarette before settling into his velvet armchair near the doors, staring blankly through the glass and seeing nothing as he planned out the following day in his mind. 

Margo would probably return from the Neitherlands within two or three days, hopefully with something useful. Until then, Quentin would need to get his tattoos. They’d have to go by his place for more than what was packed in their small bags. Eliot would definitely be going on that trip, and decided he’d ask Kady to accompany them. Quentin was comfortable with her and she could more than hold her own in a fight. He’d take Todd’s car. Eliot had allowed his license to expire years ago, but Todd never refused him access to it. He made sure not to ask often, though. 

He opened the calendar on his phone to sketch out something resembling a plan for the day, and let out a short laugh when he saw the reminder for Friday: “Mason- 8PM.” 

Jesus, he had a date. 

Finding the man’s number in his contacts, Eliot sent a short text to cancel, claiming a family emergency. It wasn’t far from the truth; Margo and the coven were the only family he had, and Quentin was now a part of it. 

“Fuck,” he sighed to himself, knocking back the last of his scotch. Moments later, he stubbed out his cigarette in a vintage ashtray and returned to his bedroom, removing his robe so he could burrow under his mountain of bedding, lifting one hand to extinguish the lights. 

In the darkness of the room, Eliot found it much more difficult to keep his thoughts focused on what needed to be done. Instead, he found himself remembering other beds he’d slept in. His current bed was by far the most expensive he’d ever owned and he’d never shared it with anyone except for Margo. It held no memories. 

Eliot remembered his bed in undergrad, an ancient creaking thing that had sagged slightly in the middle and had belonged to one of the many previous inhabitants of the apartment he’d lived in, left behind when the person had graduated. He remembered how the sunlight through his patchwork curtains had made patterns across Quentin’s skin that he’d traced with his finger until the man would wake just enough to curl closer to him, causing the springs of the mattress to whine in protest. 

He remembered Quentin’s bed in Julia’s apartment, absolutely surrounded by clutter and almost too soft for him to ever sleep comfortably, but he’d never complained. He also remembered the ridiculously small bed in Quentin’s freshman dorm room, and how his feet used to hang off the end of it, his body sandwiched between the wall and his softly snoring boyfriend. 

Eliot had woken from all those beds stiff and sore more often than not, but he wasn’t sure the luxury of his current mattress or the silky feel of his expensive sheets was worth the loneliness he so often felt here. 

_Stop,_ he told himself, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose as tears tried to gather in his eyes. But he remembered another bed, tucked away in a usually forgotten guest room in the Coldwater house. Eliot had always insisted he sleep in the guest room when they would visit Ted for a weekend, and Ted would laugh over Eliot’s strange sense of propriety and promise to change the bedding for him. The room has always smelled faintly musty, though, like a window hadn’t been opened in quite some time. Still, the bed had been comfortable and he remembered how Ted would always ignore the fact that Quentin usually followed him out of the room in the mornings, never willing to stay in his own bedroom with Eliot there. 

_God,_ what Quentin had been through since they’d last seen one another. Eliot’s life had calmed considerably in the last seven years. He’d had help forced on him and dealt with his addiction issues and most of the trauma that had encouraged them in the first place. He’d had a coven handed to him, and Margo’s help to charm or negotiate their way out of the drama it had been ensnared in at the time. He’d built a beautiful home and life with his best friend. He was a leader, somehow. People looked up to him, as ridiculous as he found the fact. 

And yes, his heart had been quietly broken for most of that time, but he’d dealt with it. He’d learned to cope by keeping his personal life and his sex life firmly separated, something that had been effortless for him before he’d met Quentin. Returning to his old ways hadn’t been difficult. On the contrary, it had been a return to the status quo. 

Quentin, however, had left everything he’d known and been shoved into the magical world, right after a suicide attempt and the end of a very serious relationship. Eliot honestly couldn’t imagine, but he’d heard enough about Brakebills to know it probably hadn’t been pleasant for him, considering Eliot knew how badly Quentin had always dealt with change. He’d discovered a new world in Fillory, and then another world within that world. He’d had a child and nearly lost that child, and _still_ might lose her. If all of that hadn’t been enough, he’d also lost his father, and the same accusing voice returned… 

_You weren’t there._

 _I wouldn't have been any help,_ he told himself. But imagining Quentin trying to deal with Carmen while juggling all the work that came with death, knowing the woman had either handled everything and made Quentin feel like shit about it, or had left him to make all the decisions while grieving and having to care for a child, a child that had probably been upset and confused... Both scenarios infuriated him, and he _hadn’t_ been there. 

Realizing the downward spiral his thoughts were taking, Eliot squeezed his eyes tightly shut, taking air deeply into his lungs. He fucking hated therapy; everything about it was a goddamn cliche, but he couldn’t deny it worked. He breathed slowly and deeply, forcing himself to focus on the things he’d first learned years ago but still failed to believe most days, things his therapist repeated often in the calm and logical way she had that usually made him glare tiredly at her from across the room. 

_“You’re not responsible for the decisions others make.”_

_“Your worth can’t be measured in what you do for others. You can’t buy love, Eliot.”_

_“You can’t protect everyone.”_

_“You can’t ignore your own issues by focusing on someone else’s. It doesn’t work that way.”_

Eliot sighed, his muscles going lax against the bed as he blinked up at the shadowed ceiling. He was tempted to make himself another drink, knowing the alcohol would eventually dull his thoughts enough to allow him to sleep. Instead, he rolled onto his side and listened to the cars pass below on their way to and from Brooklyn, hoping he’d sleep before morning. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Don't Come Back**

 **Quentin**

“Daddy.  _ Daddy.”  _

Quentin reluctantly cracked an eye open and saw Kit’s large blue eyes staring down at him, her blonde hair a halo of flyaways around her head as she loomed over his prone form. The light from the window in the room indicated he’d fallen asleep after reading for most of the night, but he wasn’t sure for how long. “‘Morning,” he muttered.

“Do you think they have pancakes here?” his daughter asked. 

Quentin smiled, rolling over to check the time on his phone. It was barely past seven. “Um, probably not, but how about I order us some?”

“Okay!”

Quentin ordered their meal on his phone and the pair of them temporarily separated to dress in the wrinkled clothes from their bags. As he escorted his daughter down to the lobby to wait for their food he felt grimy, but he usually had to wait until after breakfast to shower; Kit had the tendency to turn bratty if she didn’t eat soon after waking. The hotel was silent around them, which wasn’t really a surprise; Eliot had always been impossible to rouse before nine, and Quentin was fairly certain he was the only person in the hotel who had a small child for an alarm clock.

Quentin collected their order out on the sidewalk, surprised when he recognized the store down the street. Had Eliot really been this close all this time? How had they never run into one another? He shook his head, shivering as the cold air cut through his sweater before he re-entered the hotel and led Kit to the dining room, removing the cartons of food from the bag and allowing her to open her own syrup and butter packets. She didn’t allow Quentin to do much for her these days, but he appreciated the fact she was growing more independent—even if her clothes didn’t quite match at times. 

He was nearly finished eating when a flash of color caught the corner of his eye and he looked up to see Eliot entering the dining room in nothing more than a very short silk robe and equally indecent boxer briefs. His eyes were half-closed and his curls were a mass of frizz on top of his head. Quentin couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling up Eliot’s shapely calves and strong thighs, but he jerked his eyes towards his face when the man came to a sudden stop, realizing in his mostly asleep state that he wasn’t alone. 

“Shit,” Eliot said softly, eyes wide as he quickly pulled his robe closed in the front before taking off briskly towards the kitchen. Quentin laughed quietly, spearing the last bite of his pancakes as he felt his face filling with heat, wondering if Eliot had caught him staring. 

“I like your shirt, Eliot!” Kit called.

“Yeah, thanks!” the man called back, a little too quickly to sell his casual tone. 

Quentin soon heard coffee brewing in the kitchen, and he gathered up the remnants of their meal, stuffing them inside the plastic bag they’d been delivered in. Steeling himself, he stepped into the kitchen to toss the bag in the trash, surprised to see Eliot throw him an openly embarrassed look. “I am  _ so  _ sorry,” he laughed softly, standing next to the coffee maker as he waited for the pot to fill, his arms crossed to hold his robe closed. 

“It’s fine. She’s seen worse, trust me. She’s not exactly one for knocking.” Garbage taken care of, Quentin smiled hopefully. “So, how much coffee are you making?”

“Full pot. Mugs are up there,” he replied, pointing towards one of the cabinets, “I’m just used to being the first one up in the mornings. I’ll adjust. Oh.” Quentin looked towards him to find Eliot frowning. “I don’t think we have any of that ridiculous shit you put in yours.” He shrugged. “Todd might, actually. If he does, you can steal it.”

“I’ll live, as long as there’s milk.”

“There’s almond milk,” Eliot said with a sheepish look.

Quentin sighed dramatically, pulling a mug down from the cabinet. “Okay, shopping is definitely on the list if we’re staying here,” he laughed.

“We can go later,” Eliot offered, shooting Quentin a nervous glance. “Or I can have Todd order some stuff? Just—you know, whatever’s easiest.” 

“Whatever you usually do is fine. I know you’re busy.”

Eliot shrugged. “Just in the evenings, really. I think we could brave a store, if you wanted. I doubt the McAllisters have tracked you here.”

“I can just order whatever. I wouldn’t want to take Kit out. I mean, I can even order from my usual place. I didn’t realize we were, um, living so close.”

Eliot glanced at him warily. “Uh, yeah. I was a little surprised when Kady mentioned you.”

“I kind of wish she’d mentioned you.”

Eliot turned to look at him at that. “You do?”

“Of course. I mean, I know things are…” 

“Awkward?” the other man supplied with a hint of smile, his almost golden eyes shadowed. 

Quentin wasn’t sure how to respond, so he went with honesty, even though it rarely did him any favors. “I mean, a little? But not really. I’m just saying, knowing you were okay would have been nice. But, um, you’re obviously fine. Great, really. It was probably dumb of me to worry, but that’s kind of all I do, right?” He met Eliot’s eye to find him smiling, his eyes wide and warm, and Quentin knew that look. He cracked a smile, looking down at the mug in his hands in embarrassment. “That could have really turned into a ramble.”

“I was waiting,” Eliot replied, his amusement clear in his voice. “I think I’ve dearly missed a good Quentin Coldwater ramble.”

“Jerk,” Quentin muttered fondly, stepping past him to open the fridge and check for milk as he tried to hide his smile. Almond was the only option. Pulling it out, he gave Eliot a very put upon face. “I think you just want me to stay because you don’t have anyone to tease all day.”

“Please. Todd lives here. Fuck, finally,” he said as the coffee stopped pouring into the pot. He lifted it from the burner, stepping over to fill Quentin’s mug first. “My reasons for wanting you here are pure, I assure you.”

Quentin smirked. “Then who are you, and what have you done with Eliot Waugh?”

“Oh, who’s a jerk?” Eliot shot back, looking a little delighted as he filled his own mug and returned the pot to its place. His robe was open now, and Quentin couldn’t stop himself from taking in the view while Eliot risked sipping at the scalding liquid. “I don’t know much about the McAllisters, but I do know there’s a reason a family like that has no known scandals. They don’t leave anything to chance. They’re not going to give up.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And if you want impure reasons, well...” He bit his lip momentarily, forcing Quentin to look away, and he used the moment to splash some of the almond milk into his mug before returning the carton to the fridge. “If this whole situation takes them down somehow, Brakebills will be without a large influence on its board. Shit could change, and I wouldn’t hate to see that happen. They hoard magic and they try to keep anyone else from learning it. It makes things dangerous for those that have it and can’t learn control. They only test the best and brightest. Or the richest,” he said with a sneer. “I know everyone you know probably looks down on us, but—”

“Eliot, I agree with you,” Quentin interrupted.

Eliot blinked at him. “You do?”

“I hated that place,” he confessed. “You think once you’re there that you’ve made it, but every single day felt like a test. I understand magic is part intuition, and, like, individual experience or whatever, but having these professors telling you to  _ feel  _ how to do things when you’ve never fucking done them before? It was so stupid. And Julia a-and Alice, of course they just  _ got  _ it, you know? I was a fucking wreck. I was shocked when I passed my first year exams, and I was happy to leave once Kit was born. And they do—they talk about hedges there like they’re less than human or something. It was just all so elitist.” He met Eliot’s eyes, finding them wider than usual. “I mean, who deserves _ magic? _ What kind of arrogant question is that? Magic seems just as random as, like, green eyes or double jointed thumbs, you know? Maybe it’s not genetic, maybe it does come from pain or what the fuck ever; but, if that’s true, shouldn’t anyone who has it be able to learn how to use it? If magic comes from a need, why deny it to people?”

Eliot’s eyes appeared slightly glassy in the bright light of the kitchen, but he blinked and they were normal once more as he set his coffee aside. “Well, that’s—good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. I think… maybe it does come from need. For some people, anyway.”

Quentin wanted so badly to ask how Eliot had discovered his magic, but seeing the haunted look in his eyes, he kept his mouth shut. Still, it had to be the reason he’d become a hedge witch, and probably the same reason he now led his own coven: making sure others had access to the magic he hadn’t been offered. It hurt that Eliot hadn’t been able to share his secret years ago, leaving Quentin to wonder so many times what the man had been hiding from him. Trying to put it all together, to mesh the information he knew now with their past, there was one question he couldn’t help but ask. 

“Um, your tattoos. Were you just always doing spells to keep those hidden?”

Eliot seemed a bit startled by the question before smiling guiltily. “Yeah, every day.”

Quentin was wondering what they looked like, hidden under the smooth silk of his robe. “That must have sucked. I’m surprised you never forgot.”

“I couldn’t afford to,” Eliot told him, his eyes distant before they locked onto Quentin’s, full of rare sincerity and more than a bit of fear. “Q, things were—different then, with the covens. More, um, violent. Marina, the other coven leader, and I have… a tense kind of peace going, but that’s really only because of Margo’s Library access. Which you don’t know about, by the way.”

“I know Marina, El.”

There was a flash of surprise in Eliot’s eyes, there and gone. “Oh, I guess she came into the store?”

“All the time. She actually dropped a few hints I could join her if I wanted, but she was kind of… intense?”

Eliot chuckled. “It’s okay to say ‘psycho’ if it applies, Q.” He sighed. “She’ll be pissed to hear I snagged you.”

Quentin felt a dizzying tug low in his belly, though Eliot’s tone wasn’t as possessive as his words. “O-Oh?”

“Of course. Under me, I can charge her people more for your services. If you keep working, that is.”

“El, that’s shitty,” he replied, sipping at his coffee.

Eliot shrugged. “Hey, you haven’t signed your life away yet. We can discuss specifics later. But that’s the way things work. If the McAllisters go beyond just scouting your store, I plan on having her here to help up the wards, and trust me, I’ll fucking pay for it.”

“Really?”

Eliot nodded from behind his mug. “No one does shit for free, Q. If I send Amelia out to her, I get ten percent of Amelia’s rate. If she sends Frankie to me, she gets the same. Or whatever percentage she has with her people. It’s not a perfect system, but it keeps everyone fed and off the streets.”

“Okay, that’s… fair, I guess. What about muggles, though?”

Eliot arched an eyebrow at him, setting his empty mug aside. “Were you really making that much off of them?”

Quentin laughed softly. “Well—no. Not really.” Eliot nodded as if he’d already known, and it was as hot as it was annoying. 

“Daddy? I’m bored.”

Quentin was pulled from his thoughts, looking over to see Kit in the doorway with an expectant look on her face. “I can’t even have my coffee first?” he teased her.

“I’ve been waiting forever,” she complained with wide eyes.

Eliot chuckled. “Do you wanna get ready and meet me back down here in a bit? I thought we could go pick up some of your stuff, if you want.”

Quentin nodded. He really wanted to continue the conversation they’d been having, truly comfortable in Eliot’s presence since he’d first set eyes on him again. But they had time now, didn’t they? “Yeah, that sounds fine. I guess I’ll bring the cup back down with me.”

“It’s never a good idea to keep a lady waiting,” Eliot replied sagely. “Especially a bored one.”

“Oh, you know something about that?”

Eliot grinned crookedly. “You’ve met Margo, right?”

**Eliot**

Once Eliot returned to his room, he took his time choosing something to wear for the day that would be appropriate for helping someone basically move out of their home. He wasn’t sure how much they could get accomplished with one trip—Quentin and Kit only really needed essentials until a more concrete plan was in place, but on the other hand, dealing with the McAllisters could take some time, and Quentin probably couldn’t afford the lease on the shop if it wasn’t open for business. Thinking of the cold outside, Eliot remembered to lay out an extra coat and then found an old sweatshirt in his dresser that would probably hang to Kit’s ankles, but would at least give her an extra layer of warmth until they could get her own coat. Kady hadn’t remembered to bring it, but Eliot couldn’t blame her for that. 

In the shower, Eliot wet his hair under the spray and tried to think of anything else besides the way Quentin’s eyes had greedily roved all over him when he’d stepped into the dining room, and again in the kitchen when asking about his tattoos. He’d half expected the man to ask to see them. He wondered if he would have, if his daughter hadn’t been in the next room. He’d always been the brave one, and if he was trying to hide the fact he was still attracted to Eliot, he was doing a damn poor job of it. 

Eliot wondered if he would have given a better performance if their roles had been reversed, clearly recalling Quentin’s broad bare shoulders and the downy patch of hair on his chest that Eliot had nuzzled whenever possible. Even watching Quentin’s hands hold his coffee mug so carefully had jarred him, because the man’s _ hands...  _

Eliot shut the water off, ignoring the slight twitch of his dick at the memory of Quentin’s hands and the places they’d been. He definitely couldn’t afford to give in to the impulse to take the edge off. It would work for the moment, but would only make things more torturous in the long run. It wasn’t like it was a surprise they were attracted to one another—everything else aside, they’d fucked for nearly four years. But giving into it…

That couldn’t happen. 

Eliot had learned a lot of the past seven years. He knew his strengths, and he was more than aware of his faults. He could help Quentin and Kit. He  _ wanted  _ to. They’d be safe in the hotel, and he was confident with Margo’s help they could find a way to make good on the deal Quentin had made. He could teach Quentin magic, help him build his confidence with it. He could probably even help Kit, though he wasn’t exactly sure how yet.

Beyond that, he had nothing to offer Quentin. Surely Quentin knew that, too. How could he not?

Eliot shot off a text to Kady once he’d toweled off, dressing and attending to his hair as he waited for a response. Once he received it, he gathered the extra layers he’d chosen for Quentin and Kit and made his way downstairs.

“Eliot, you took forever!” Kit scolded him when he entered the dining room. 

“Well, it takes some of us longer to look as good as you do,” he told her with a lift of his brows before looking at Quentin. “I brought warm things for the trip,” he said, placing them on the table. “Kady’s on her way down with Todd’s keys.”

Quentin smiled gratefully at him. “Thanks, El. Hey Kit, you wanna wear this big shirt on the way? It’s cold out.” 

Kit allowed her father to pull the shirt over her head and worked her tiny arms into the sleeves, wrinkling her nose. “It smells weird.”

“Tom Ford will be heartbroken,” Eliot quipped, his eyes pausing on Quentin to watch him shrug on his wool peacoat from last year, and trying not to smile at how long it was on him.

Kady joined them minutes later, and Eliot led everyone outside to Todd’s car, where they were all forced to pause so Quentin could work through a mild panic attack over the fact he didn’t have so much as a booster seat for Kit before Eliot was allowed to start the vehicle and pull away from the curb. 

“Eliot, are you good at this?” Kit asked him warily from the backseat, and he glanced in the rearview mirror to find Quentin’s lips pressed thinly together as he tried not to smile over Kit’s pronunciation of his name.  _ El-yet. _

“I’m very good at it,” he assured her as Kady tried to find a station she preferred on the satellite radio. “Why, are you nervous?”

“Uhhhh, no?” she replied. “But I’ve only been in a car a few times. Daddy can’t drive.”

“Oh, I know,” he replied with a smirk, remembering the few times he’d tried teaching Quentin, every attempt a disaster. 

“Yeah, well, at least the subway won’t leave you stranded on the side of the road all night in  _ January,”  _ Quentin grumbled, and Eliot’s mouth fell open in indignation.

“That was  _ not my fault!”  _ he said with a shocked laugh, meeting Quentin’s insolent gaze in the mirror. 

“Shit, Waugh, what’d you do?” Kady asked with a grin, obviously eager to gang up on him. 

“Nothing!” he cried. “You’re lucky I pulled over when I heard it.”

“We borrowed my dad’s car for the weekend,” Quentin explained to Kady. “We were going to go to Boston, but halfway there we started hearing this weird grinding noise. So, Eliot decided to pull off the highway to try to get a look at it, but it was already too dark for him to see anything.”

“There was also  _ no  _ cell signal,” Eliot added.

“So, I convinced him to drive back to the highway, thinking we could flag someone down. And halfway up this old road—”

“The axle broke,” Eliot finished, laughing silently, his shoulders shaking. 

He remembered the night well, especially what had happened in the backseat after he’d managed to calm Quentin down. He remembered how he’d pressed his fingers to the man’s lips to cut off his panicked babbling, shocked when heat and uncertainty had filled Quentin’s eyes right before he’d licked at his fingers. They’d barely been dating a month at the time and had still been a bit shy with one another—Quentin due to his lack of experience, and Eliot more afraid he’d scare Quentin away with his.

With the simple move of licking at his fingers, Quentin had given Eliot the confidence to try several things in that backseat, including fucking Quentin’s mouth with his fingers, whispering all the dirty things he wanted to do to him in his ear until Quentin had come in his hand, shaking and whimpering. 

Simply put, it had been a turning point for them. 

Kady laughed softly and the car went silent around them, except for the soft music playing from the radio. Feeling heat in his face, Eliot focused on driving, patently refusing to acknowledge that Quentin was probably recalling the same events from that night. He suppressed a sigh of relief when Kady pointed out a unicorn painted on a brick wall they passed to Kit, the tension leaving the car as the girl exclaimed over it.

Quentin’s store was conveniently located next to a small parking lot that wasn’t quite full that early in the morning, and Kady hopped out of the car to scout the building without being asked as Eliot parked and helped Kit out of the backseat, the girl in too much of a hurry to wait for her father’s assistance.

Kady reappeared several minutes later, gesturing that it was safe, and Eliot let Quentin take the lead, smiling when Kit took his own hand to lead him towards the door, as if he might get lost along the way. 

Quentin unlocked the entrance and held the door open for Kady, Eliot, and Kit, quickly relocking it once they were inside. Eliot was immediately charmed by the space as he looked around, imagining what had drawn Quentin to lease the place. The tall, sturdy counter had obviously served as a bar at one time, judging by the numerous shelves lining the wall behind it, and the stain on the wooden floors had been worn down along the center walkway from so many feet traversing it for years. The place had history, down to the aged floral wallpaper still clinging to the back wall, the pattern barely visible but obviously not as aged as everything else, the faded mauve reminding Eliot of his aunt’s living room back in Indiana. He shuddered slightly at the memory. 

Kit ran ahead of them to a curtained doorway just past the bar, ducking past the heavy fabric before her feet thudded up the staircase. Eliot brought up the rear of the group as they followed her up, more unfamiliar with the place than the others.

At the top of the stairs, he found a long hall that spanned the building from front to back, with two narrow windows looking down into the parking lot. 

“So, how much should I grab this time?” Quentin asked, pausing outside of a doorway. 

“Do you have any boxes?” Eliot asked. “Bags could work, but boxes would be easier. I can charm them to shrink, if you want to take a lot.” He shrugged. “Or we could come back later.”

Quentin worried at his lip with his teeth. “Uh, yeah. I think I have some down in storage.”

Before Eliot could ask Quentin what he wanted him to do, he was brushing past him, quickly making his way back down the stairs. Kady and Eliot shared an amused look.

“I’ll help Kit,” she offered, walking in the other direction.

“Well, fine,” he whispered mockingingly to himself as Kit followed Kady into her bedroom, leaving him with the other bedroom and Quentin’s things. 

As he stepped into the room Eliot looked around at the secondhand furniture and plain navy bedding. Some of Kit’s artwork was framed on the walls, but there was nothing else personal about the space. The only real giveaway this bedroom belonged to one Quentin Coldwater were the two overstuffed bookshelves, mostly filled with books familiar to Eliot, dating back to the apartment Quentin had once shared with Julia and James, along with several framed photographs. Seeing Ted’s smiling face in one of them, Eliot quickly turned his eyes away, deciding the closet would probably be less personal. 

Pulling the string on the closet light, Eliot smiled to see only half of the rod inside occupied by Quentin’s clothes, a thick coat taking up a bit more of the space next to them. He had nearly all of it laid across the bed before he heard Quentin’s feet on the stairs again. His steps headed down the hall and there was a murmur of voices before he finally appeared in his own doorway, a stack of flat boxes under his arm. 

“So, I don’t have any tape,” he announced.

Eliot chuckled. “It’s fine, we can fold the corners under each other. They’ll be too small to worry about them collapsing.” Feeling unsure, he stepped forward to take the boxes from Quentin. “I hope it’s okay I got started.”

“No, it’s fine,” Quentin assured him, taking one of the boxes after Eliot rested them on the bed, both of them starting to fold the cardboard into shape. “It really shouldn’t take that long, except for maybe my books. And Kit’s toys,” he added with a grin that caused the corner of his eyes to crinkle, making Eliot’s knees feel like rubber.

“Spoiled?” he asked teasingly, his first box folded while Quentin was still struggling with his. 

“Yeah, like I have the money for that to be a possibility,” he laughed, finally managing to tuck in the flaps on his box correctly. Eliot began filling his box with Quentin’s clothes and pushed more unconstructed boxes towards Quentin, silently letting the other man know he wasn’t trusted with the task of packing, as Eliot had seen how the man had moved out of his dorm, cramming things haphazardly into boxes and bags in a way that had nearly given him hives. Quentin either didn’t notice or chose not to comment, grabbing another box to put together.

Most of Quentin’s closet was packed (including all the wrinkled items that had fallen onto the floor and had never been picked up) when Kady called for him from down the hall and he gave Eliot an apologetic smile before leaving the room. 

Eliot was packing the hangers when Quentin called out for him. “Hey, El? Can you look in my dresser for a box of inhalers? I think it’s just white, with the name on the side?”

“Uh, sure,” he called back, turning from the bed to open the top two drawers of the dresser. Socks,underwear, and a depressing collection of t-shirts, though they were neatly folded. (Unlike the socks  _ or  _ the underwear. Christ, Quentin.) The second pair of drawers yielded nothing but flannel pajama pants and sweats. The third set, while full of Kit’s clothes, didn’t contain anything else.

Frowning, Eliot glanced around the room. The closet was empty and they definitely weren’t on the bookshelves, so that really only left the nightstand, which did have one deep drawer to it, along with a shelf underneath that held only a stack of books. 

Opening the drawer, Eliot’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. Next to the very normal items one might find in a nightstand—a pack of cigarettes, rolling papers, a few pens, a pad of sticky notes—there was a very…  _ adequately _ sized gray dildo. 

Shutting the drawer quickly, Eliot backed away from the nightstand and took a deep breath. “Um, Q? I don’t think they’re in here,” he called, hoping the slight tremor in his voice went ignored.

He only heard a grumble in response, so Eliot put another box together and tried to focus on packing the contents of Quentin’s dresser, willing the beginnings of an erection away and definitely  _ not  _ imagining—nope. Not going there. When he heard Quentin fumbling in the bathroom minutes later he figured he was on his own for a while, which was fine until the nightstand was all that was left to pack. Eliot would shrink the damn ceiling fan and pack  _ it _ before letting Quentin know what he’d seen. 

Packing the contents of the dresser didn’t take long; Eliot wasn’t about to fold wrinkled clothes, so he just tossed them into the boxes the same way they’d been tossed into the drawers. 

Moving to the bookshelves, Eliot quickly solved the issue of packing the more fragile items by wrapping them in Quentin’s shabbier sets of pajama pants and sweatshirts. A clay sculpture he assumed was made by Kit went into the box first. It was either supposed to be a warthog or a porcupine; he wasn’t sure. Then, a small hourglass, several slivers of agate, and a few corked bottles that were probably potions of some kind. 

Eliot gently lifted the framed photograph of Ted and Quentin from the shelf, smiling sadly as he looked at Quentin’s awkward smile in the photo. It had been taken before he’d met either of them, after Quentin’s high school graduation. He wrapped a sweatshirt around it and placed it carefully in a box before gathering several photos of Kit from the shelves and doing the same for them. 

The last photograph was nearly hidden in a corner, tucked away behind a small fabric-covered box. Eliot’s eyebrows lifted as he recognized the pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes, framed by a pair of glasses that gave him serious librarian vibes. Alice, then. 

Lifting the frame from the shelf, Eliot’s brow furrowed when another, cheaper frame fell on its face behind it. Setting Alice’s photo aside on the bed, Eliot picked up the smaller frame, his breath catching as he looked at the familiar photo. 

“God,” he scoffed softly, taking in his own ridiculous hair and cheap, wire-framed glasses. James had taken the photo during a party Julia had thrown at the end of freshman year to show off her freshly gifted apartment, paid for by her mother. Every room had been packed with people and Quentin had been miserable. 

_ He doesn’t look miserable,  _ he thought, his finger tracing next to Quentin’s face over the glass. 

Why did Quentin still have this? 

Eliot had once had a shoebox, full of photos, little notes, pressed flowers, and ticket stubs. He’d never opened it after Quentin had walked away from him. Not once. He’d felt its weight, though, under his bed at Margo’s. When they’d moved their things to the hotel, Eliot had forced himself to take it out with the trash, pretending it was just a box he should have thrown away long ago, never admitting to Margo or even himself what it had held inside. 

Feeling a sting in his eyes, Eliot sighed and shook his head, grabbing for another pair of flannel pants and quickly wrapping the last two photos together. He placed them in the box and closed it, not wanting to put any more weight on the glass inside. 

Eliot was packing Quentin’s books when he heard a short cry of victory from the bathroom.

Quentin had found the inhalers.

**Quentin**

By the time afternoon rolled around, Quentin was more than ready to get off the emotional rollercoaster he’d been riding all day. 

He’d started it, and he still felt like slapping himself for bringing up that failed trip to Boston. He’d only meant to make a joke, something to continue the easy calm he’d felt with Eliot in the kitchen. Instead, he’d opened the door to this own personal torture session that had lasted throughout the morning. 

It wasn’t just the memories of Eliot’s lips or hands that had made packing difficult. Quentin had forgotten the way Eliot just— _ handled  _ things with such alarming ease, turning what Quentin had assumed would be an all day project into a task that only took a couple of hours, using magic and his own intense form of organization to cram nearly everything into the trunk of Todd’s car, leaving Kady and Quentin struggling to keep up. Quentin wasn’t entirely sure why he found Eliot’s talent for taking charge so hot, but he always had, and he’d been forced to shake himself out of staring at his ex more than once. 

Back at the hotel, Eliot had helped carry their things into the elevator and upstairs, removing the spells and returning everything to its original size. He’d then ordered lunch for everyone and had started gathering supplies for Quentin’s testing while they’d waited for the food to arrive. The only thing Quentin had managed to remember during all of it was to grab Kit’s schoolwork, figuring it would keep her occupied while he ran through whatever spells Eliot wanted him to cast. 

Eliot and Quentin were interrupted often once the testing started, either by Kit needing help with her work or by other hedges once they started arriving in the dining room. Again, Eliot handled it all with ease, quickly assisting those with questions and even breaking up an argument with another table with nothing more than a glare and a biting comment thrown over his shoulder. 

Quentin quickly found himself grateful for every interruption. Having Eliot’s focus directed entirely on him for so long was overwhelming, especially when he quietly complimented Quentin’s tuts or the quality of his spellwork. His amused little grins when Kit interrupted were also hard to take. 

It was dark outside when Eliot finally announced they were finished. Kit had completed her schoolwork hours before and was sprawled across the threadbare sofa in the corner, watching something on her tablet and the room had filled up in the time they’d spent going through the binders full of spells. 

“How’d I do?” Quentin asked, shaking the soreness from his fingers as Eliot closed the last binder they’d used. 

“I’d say you’re close to thirty-five, but not there yet. So, Kady will give you four tattoos for now.” 

Quentin frowned, not looking forward to receiving even one of those. Eliot smirked knowingly. “Not to worry, she’s a pro. Besides, I’ve heard tattoos on your arms don’t hurt as much as other places can.”

Quentin’s brow furrowed worriedly as he thought of his arms. “Um. Is that, like, a requirement?”

Eliot’s smile faltered. “The tattoos?”

“No, the uh. Placement?”

“I mean… no? One should be pretty visible, though, so most people just start on their wrist and go from there.”

Quentin saw the realization dim Eliot’s eyes before he quickly looked away. “Anywhere is fine, Q,” he said quietly. “When I was in Chicago, some of the hedges had one on their necks. Would that work?”

He nodded, trying not to feel ashamed of the scars that littered his arms. Eliot had seen them, the thinner ones that traversed the skin between his wrists and elbows. He hadn’t seen the much more obvious ones that lived on his wrists, a constant reminder of what he’d almost done, but Eliot had seen the wounds that had caused them. 

“Uh, yeah. That’d be fine. I guess the others can go on my back.”

Something Quentin didn’t quite recognize passed through Eliot’s eyes as he nodded slowly. “Of course. We should discuss some rules before I hand you off, though.”

Quentin smiled. “Is this where I fill out my new hire paperwork?”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Hardly. There’s just a few things you’ll need to know. Since you’re staying here, I’ll have keys made for you. There’s one for the front door, and there’s also one that works for the back gate and the second floor balcony. If you leave later on, you’ll have to show your tattoo to get in. People usually call Todd to open the door, but you don’t have to worry about that right now.”

Quentin watched as Eliot took a sheet of paper from a stack he’d brought over for the testing, quickly scratching something across it with a pen before sliding it across the table. “That’s my number. And Margo’s, in case you need one of us. We’ll need yours too.”

Quentin tore the paper in half, pocketing the numbers Eliot had given him and writing down his own on the leftover paper. “Oh, what about Kit? She doesn’t have a phone, but she has Skype set up under an email of mine.”

Eliot nodded. “That would probably be a good idea,” he agreed, taking the information once Quentin was finished. “Now, about your mending. You’re completely welcome to do business here, as long as it’s not in this room. I’d prefer appointments, though. We have hedges from other covens here fairly often, but I’d like to know they’re coming. If you want, Kady can let people know you’re back in business. She’s got connections with Marina’s group and a few others around the city.”

Quentin picked at a hangnail on his thumb. “I’m—not really sure yet. Probably soon? But I think I should be focused on the McAllisters right now, if that’s okay. I mean, if there’s rent or something, I’ve got some of my dad’s money that could cover whatever.” 

Eliot shook his head. “No, we’re fine. As long as you can cover your own expenses?”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem. But doesn’t anyone here pay rent? I mean, this place has to cost a fortune, El.”

Eliot leaned over the table a bit, smirking. “This place costs nothing,” he informed Quentin. “The repairs, yeah, but that’s it. Margo’s father gave her the building and we use magic so we don’t have to pay the utilities.”

Quentin’s mouth fell open. “Wait, wait, wait. Margo’s dad gave her a  _ hotel?” _

Eliot nodded, leaning back against his chair again. “He’s loaded, and he thinks money makes up for negligence. When I took over the coven, she asked him for it. He’s never been able to sell it; something with a title issue?” He shook his head. “Anyway, he gives her a monthly stipend for repairs, so we don’t worry about much here.”

“Jesus, that’s… fucking lucky, I guess.”

Eliot shrugged. “Well, getting the place livable was a nightmare, not to mention the shit that’s constantly breaking, and the fact I barely have heat on my floor, but we’ve made it work.”

“Have you, um, been here long?”

“Just short of two years.”

“Wow, I was still in New Jersey then. It looks like you’ve done a lot in that time.”

Eliot’s brow wrinkled. “Were you staying with your dad?”

“Yeah, I lived there until he passed. After I dropped out, I mean.”

Eliot nodded a bit, his eyes distant. “Oh, what happened to the house?” His eyes immediately went wide, like he hadn’t meant to ask. “I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, of course it’s—”

“El, it’s fine,” Quentin interrupted, hating the uncertainty he saw in his eyes. “Uh, Mom and I agreed to sell and split the profits.” He was expecting Eliot’s scowl, and he wasn’t disappointed. “I-I know. Jules was pissed too, but I just didn’t have the energy to argue with her, you know? She  _ did  _ live there, before the divorce. She helped make mortgage payments. I didn’t have a lot of room to argue with her.”

Eliot’s scowl only deepened but he didn’t argue the point. “Well, to get back on topic, you don’t owe anything for staying here. But when, or if, you start working again, ten percent goes to the safe house.”

“Okay, but what about, like, Kady? How’s that work?”

“That’s up to you. Most don’t charge other members, but some pick and choose.” He grinned. “Sometimes Amelia charges Kady because she gets tired of her starting shit and having to patch her up. Things like that.”

Quentin laughed. “Okay, that sounds fair.”

Eliot’s eyebrows did a teasing dance. “Then, I guess there’s nothing left to discuss. I’ll call Kady down to get started.”

It was Quentin’s turn to scowl.

**Margo**

As much as Margo liked the exclusivity of owning a Library card, she actually hated the damn place. It was gray and seemed never-ending and the light fell in strange angles that made her feel off-balance in her high heels. She always made sure to wear her brightest clothing when making a trip, just to remind herself the actual world contained color. 

She was feeling pretty encouraged by what she’d pulled from the shelves so far—she’d found a journal from a magician who had lived in the 1700s that had exclusively studied fairy magic. It was almost fucking impossible to read, being in German with every fifth word spelled incorrectly, but she figured between Quentin, Eliot, and herself they’d break it down eventually.

She’d also found the personal accounts of several fairies that looked promising, and Zelda had allowed her to copy a few of the pages she’d found interesting, hovering in her bird-like way the entire time before she’d shelved the books again. Margo tried not to waste a lot of time during these trips; she could always return if she missed something, and she hated being away from the coven for days at a time. 

There had also been a little hiccup that had Margo feeling more on edge than usual. She hadn’t been able to find a single book with the McAlister name on it. When she’d asked, Zelda had stiffly advised her they were kept in the restricted section, a tight smile on her face. She’d immediately disappeared into the stacks after that, but as a former teenage klepto, Margo was more than familiar with the feeling of being watched. There were eyes on her, and even though the idea of returning to Earth immediately through Harriet’s portal was tempting, she couldn’t stop herself from walking past a specific shelf, one that held a set of books she’d promised herself she’d never open.

_ Margo Hanson. Eliot Waugh.  _ (It drove her  _ bonkers  _ that Eliot had two volumes. What the fuck did that even  _ mean?) Kady Orloff-Diaz. Elliot Bradley.  _ (Margo had never wanted to deface a book so badly in her life.)  _ Amelia Allen. _

Now, there were other books, shelved directly next to Eliot’s and she knew they hadn’t been during her last visit. 

_ Quentin Coldwater. Katherine Coldwater. _

Margo didn’t know how the shelving system worked in the Library, but something had obviously changed. Like it or not, it appeared Quentin and his kid had now been woven into their lives. 

She wasn’t sure she  _ did  _ like it. She liked Quentin, and his kid was cute as fuck, but neither of those facts changed what she’d watched Eliot go through seven years ago. She knew all of Eliot’s secrets when it came to his life before New York. She knew about the abuse he’d suffered and what he’d done to survive after running away from his hometown. She knew the dark shit and the ugly shit, and even the fucking humiliating shit. 

When it came to Quentin, though, Margo had very little to go on; just random things Eliot didn’t know he’d said, back when he’d been too fucked up to control his narrative and she hadn’t been able to explain to herself why she kept running to his rescue. Things like  _ “He hates me,”  _ and  _ “Do you think he’s okay?”  _ and  _ “I never deserved someone like that,”  _ and  _ “He was just gone.”  _ She remembered how he’d sobbed in her lap and had gotten blindingly fucked up any time she’d left him alone for more than a few hours. 

She remembered how he hadn’t done magic for months after she’d forced him into rehab, his hands trembling when he’d tried to perform a simple tut to light a cigarette, his eyes wide and haunted. He’d refused to discuss that too.

He’d also refused to acknowledge the nightmares he’d had, that he  _ still  _ had on occasion, where he would wake pale and jittery, his hands clenching whatever was nearest—a pillow, the sheets, and once, her arm. He’d apologized for the bruises he’d left but had claimed not to remember anything.

Margo hadn’t even known Quentin’s name until Eliot had announced he was coming to their safe house and his pacing and fidgeting had worried her even more than Eliot’s casual confession that Quentin had been “the boyfriend.” As in the  _ only  _ boyfriend. Ever. 

“What’s so dangerous about you?” she murmured, her finger tracing the gold lettering on the spine of Quentin’s book. 

It was so tempting, and part of her argued that she didn’t owe Quentin Coldwater a fucking thing. Still, thinking of anyone reading her own book, even Eliot… 

Sighing, Margo let her hand drop from the book with a low growl. She couldn’t do it. 

Glancing at Kit’s book, Margo smiled at the purple leather binding and the gold leaf on the edge of the pages.

Which weren’t uniform…

Eyebrows drawing together, Margo plucked the book from the shelf, looking at the break in the pages. Something was inside.

“What the fuck,” she murmured, cracking the book open and finding a long, white envelope inside.

Addressed to Quentin.

“What the  _ fuck?”  _ Quentin didn’t even have a Library card. Why would anyone leave him a letter? 

Margo glanced around furtively before shoving the letter into her tote bag, carefully returning Kit’s book to its shelf. She left the Library hurriedly after that, not knowing if anyone had seen her take the envelope. She wasn’t about to get caught.

  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! I'm so sorry about the long wait, but I think we all understand what this year has been like. I won't bore you with the depressing details. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

**Hunger Hurts**

**Quentin**

It was barely eight in the morning and Quentin was already tired. 

His day had started before sunrise, with Kit throwing herself across his bed, loudly demanding breakfast. He’d been planning to order something again, but when she’d glimpsed a can of cinnamon rolls in the refrigerator as he’d made his coffee she‘d immediately started begging for them and he hadn’t been able to refuse her, figuring he could replace them later. 

Quentin made a mistake in allowing Kit to assist with the cinnamon rolls, which had led to her running her messy hands through her hair before he’d been able to stop her. Upset over her sticky hair, she’d kept touching it and complaining. By the time he’d cleaned up the remains of breakfast and led her back up to their rooms, she’d been a sugary mess and close to crying over it. He’d helped her wash the worst of the icing from her hair and had then left her alone in the tub at her request, using the opportunity to start unpacking some of the boxes stacked in both of their rooms. 

He’d barely started on the first box when there was a knock against his door, and Quentin was surprised to see Margo when he opened it, a white envelope in her hands. “Hey, did you just get back?” he asked, stepping back to allow her into the room.

“A few minutes ago, yeah. I just dropped off what I found downstairs with El.”

“Is that  _ Margo?”  _ Kit shouted from her bathroom, and Quentin heard a telling splash from the bathtub.

“Finish your bath!” he called to her, rolling his eyes at the larger, inexplicably disgruntled splash he heard after that.

“Rough morning?” Margo asked with a tilt of her eyebrow as she looked him over.

“There were cinnamon rolls,” Quentin huffed in explanation.

“I was wondering,” she replied, and off his confused look, she pointed to a crusted spot of icing on his shirt. 

“Jesus,” he laughed softly. “We can be down there pretty soon, though. I guess you found some stuff?”

“Possibly, but I didn’t have a lot of time to make sure. Things got fucking weird. I’ll explain downstairs, but I wanted to give you this first.” She waved the envelope, giving him a short, nervous glance. “I was… maybe snooping a little. It was in Kit’s book.”

Quentin looked at her sharply. “You read her book?”

“No,” she said in a casual tone, but there was a trace of anxiety in her dark eyes. “I was actually trying to find the balls to read  _ your  _ book.”

Quentin’s brow quirked in surprise. “Why would you want to read mine?” he asked with a short laugh. “I swear, I’m not that interesting.”

“It wasn’t really about you,” she admitted, taking a seat on the end of his bed. 

Seeing the guarded look in Margo’s eyes, Quentin realized what she meant. “Eliot, then?”

She nodded, setting the envelope aside and crossing her legs at the ankles. “Yeah, in relation to you. I don’t like mysteries when it comes to him, you know?”

Quentin settled himself on the corner of the bed, giving her space. He could still hear Kit moving in the tub, so he figured they had a few minutes. “What’s he told you?”

Margo laughed under her breath, meeting his eye. “Well, I learned your name right before you were carried in the door. Before that? Fucking squat.”

“O-Oh.” Quentin wasn’t sure how to feel, hearing that. Eliot had really never even mentioned him? “I mean, I guess it was a long time ago?”

Margo rolled her eyes. “No. I’ve known Eliot since you two were done. He didn’t mention you then, either. Fuck, we almost crossed paths, Quentin. I’m not saying he’s some kind of open book about everything, but he’s told me every goddamn thing about himself, unless it involved  _ you.”  _ Quentin stared down at his knees, trying not to feel hurt by her words. It wasn’t like he’d brought up Eliot very often either, but there was no one in his life that had really wanted him to. “And I don’t know why that is, but I didn’t love leaving the two of you together. He told me it was fine, so I took his word for it.”

“It—it was,” he assured her, going still when Margo reached over to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“Hey, don’t look so down. You look like a neglected puppy.” Her words were stern, but there was a softness in her eyes that surprised him.

Quentin huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I just… I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t really blame him, if he just wanted to, like, forget it all, you know?”

“Oh, he didn’t  _ forget,”  _ Margo told him, her eyes fierce. “I’m not—look, I like you. I think. But I can’t just lay all of Eliot’s shit out for you. I’ll just say he was a wreck for a really long time and leave it at that. And I know you had something to do with it.” Quentin opened his mouth to speak, but Margo continued. “I’m not blaming you. For now. I just wasn’t sure if you being here would be good for him, is all.”

Quentin listened for his daughter again, not sure he should delve into his history with Eliot with her nearby. “I don’t… I ended things,” he admitted. “I was kind of out of my mind, and I didn’t really mean it, but by the time I realized that, Eliot had moved on.” He shrugged. “And then Brakebills happened, so…”

“Moved on?” Margo repeated in a doubtful tone, her brow creased. 

Quentin nodded. “I… tried to kill myself,” he said softly, not wanting Kit to overhear. Margo’s eyes widened in quiet shock. “Things had been bad for a while—not with him,” he rushed to clarify. “Just… bad, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I never really was back then. Eliot found me and got me to the hospital. I think that just… I think that ended things, really. Or I convinced myself it did? I don’t know. When he came to visit me in the clinic, I just begged him to get me out of there, you know? And when he wouldn’t, I—I dumped him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Margo sighed, and he was surprised when she reached across the bed and rubbed her hand over his, squeezing around his knuckles. “Well, I don’t know what convinced you he moved on,” she said dryly.

Quentin forced himself not to wince at the memory. “Well, um. When I tried to go talk to him, he was kind of in bed with someone else? So.”

“Fucking  _ Eliot,”  _ she spat in a whisper, looking towards the ceiling. “Yeah, that tracks.” She looked at him with sympathy. “So, that was it?”

“Uh, yeah. I left for Brakebills a couple of days later.”

“And he never even tried to call you?”

Quentin looked away from her, his throat tightening with shame. “I… I don’t know? He didn’t try before I left. And I was just… messed up. Julia said we both needed a fresh start. She broke up with her boyfriend and we both tossed our phones.”

“Seriously?” she asked with a hard look. “That sounds like something from a chick flick, Quentin. A shitty one.”

He forced himself not to flinch at her tone. “I know, I just… I’d just gotten off a psych ward, and she was calling my dad every day and giving him, like, a status report? I didn’t want to get committed, Margo. I, um. I snuck out after a few weeks and went back, but he was gone. Cindy said he moved out.”

Margo let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. I moved him in with me. Jesus.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied quietly, still wishing after all this time he could take it all back. 

She shoved at his arm gently, giving him a dark look. “Don’t be sorry, asshole. You were going through some shit. I just mean.... That’s some  _ shit.  _ That’s all.”

“Oh. I mean, yeah. It was, I guess.”

“Are  _ you  _ okay being here? With Eliot? Because I’ve still got a loft in Tribeca, and it’s warded up the ass.”

Quentin blinked in surprise over the offer. “I-I don’t—I’m fine. Really. I’m not saying it’s not—a lot? But it was a long time ago.”

Margo’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but they both turned when they heard tiny feet thudding against the carpeted floor, and Kit appeared moments later, wrapped in her penguin bathrobe, her hair dripping wet. “Hi!”

Margo laughed. “Hi. I heard you had a messy breakfast.”

Kit nodded, beaming. “Yeah, I helped make it!”

She gave the girl an assessing look, narrowing her eyes. “Did you save me any?”

Kit’s eyes widened in absolute horror. “Um. I don’t… think so? I’m sorry!”

Margo laughed again, standing from the bed. “Let’s go comb out that rat’s nest, huh? Your daddy has a letter to read, I think.”

“Okay!”

Quentin sat up quickly, his eyes darting to the envelope still resting on the bed. He’d completely forgotten about it. 

Flipping it over in his hands, his breath caught in his throat when he saw his name written across the white paper.

In Alice’s handwriting.

Quentin’s brow puckered in confusion as the rest of him seemed to go numb, the letter nearly falling from his fingers before he caught it, hurrying to tear at the seal. When had Alice gone to the Library? Why had she left him a letter there, in a place he had no access to? 

There was only a single sheet of paper inside, unlined and folded neatly. Listening to Kit and Margo chatter in the bathroom of the other room, he carefully unfolded the page, his breath shaking as he saw his name printed at the top.

_ Quentin, _

_ Please don’t read Kit’s book. I did, and you know what happened. But I guess it would have happened either way. I can’t tell you how much I hate the thought of that. Not that I regret anything, but I thought you deserved an explanation. _

_ I knew I was pregnant for weeks before I told you. I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you at all, and at the time there was no decision to be made. I’d already made it. Until I came here, and saw this book. _

_ I hoped I’d see a later birthday, or even that she was someone else’s daughter and not mine. I didn’t see either of those things. I was so angry. I didn’t want her. Maybe that seems selfish to you, but I was finally starting to like my life.  _

_ I decided to have her when I read what I did. To her. To you. I don’t know how the Library works. I don’t know how fate or destiny work. But it’s in here, what I did. I can’t apologize for it. I don’t know what would have possessed me to try that spell before I read Kit’s future, but I did read it. Maybe I was always going to and that’s why it’s already in here. Maybe there’s really no choice in our decisions. Maybe I chose a spell I knew would make you hate me. It would be easier for both of us that way. Maybe my book explains it all, but I can’t stand to read it. I think seeing that it was all caused by me reading the book in the first place would drive me crazy. That’s some sort of paradox, right? I wish I could ask you.  _

_ I knew the spell would fail, Q. I knew what it would do to me. I made the decision to have her, and I made the decision to leave her, all because of what’s in this book. Because I know you, I have to say she’s not some fantasy hero. She’s not going to save the world, but she will play a part in changing it. And if you don’t make the deal, I can’t guarantee that will happen. And after reading this, I think it needs to.  _

_ I don’t want you to read it, because I want just one favor. Just be her dad, okay? She can handle the rest.  _

_ Love, _

_ Alice _

Quentin’s eyes strayed past Alice’s simple signature, wishing for more. He read the letter again, and then another time but couldn’t finish due to the tears blurring his vision. He folded the paper gently and set it aside, wiping the moisture from his eyes. 

He’d been angry at Alice for so long, ever since he’d watched Julia’s face go pale with pain and betrayal that morning in the clearing, looking around at the scattered components surrounding Alice’s corpse, realizing what she’d attempted. Quentin had been broken with grief over finding Alice dead and wild with panic over the fact Kit was nowhere to be seen. Julia had tried to dodge his questions until he’d shouted into her face, demanding answers, causing Penny to drag him away from his best friend. 

He’d collapsed once she’d confessed that Alice had tried to turn back time. He’d lost touch with reality after that, hearing and seeing nothing, swallowed by a black terror, convinced it had somehow  _ worked  _ and that’s why they couldn’t find Kit. He’d come back to Julia holding him, telling him over and over again that it hadn’t worked, that they’d find Kit, that everything would be  _ fine.  _

He’d left Julia and Penny in charge of burying Alice while he took Kit back to Earth as soon as the deal had been struck with the Fairy Queen. He hadn’t attended her funeral, and though he’d taken Kit to see Alice’s parents several times after that, his absence while they dealt with their daughter’s death had strained the already awkward relationship he’d had with them. When they’d stopped calling, he’d been relieved, grateful to leave any reminder of Alice behind. 

He’d never grieved for her; he’d been too furious. The fury had grown quiet over the years, but it had never died.

Now…

The fact that the letter was just so…  _ Alice— _ it didn’t help. There were no declarations of love, no hopes to be remembered as a caring mother. She’d simply done what she thought was right and hadn’t tried to dress it up to paint a better picture of herself. It made the grief that was suddenly present deep in his chest more difficult to bear. She hadn’t cared what Quentin had thought of her. Whatever she’d read in Kit’s book, she’d sacrificed her life to make sure it happened. She’d never lost her way like he’d assumed. He felt terrible for ever believing she had. 

Did it mean they’d succeed? It had to, didn’t it?  _ Jeez, Alice, couldn’t you have given me a fucking hint?  _ he thought, sniffling as a small smile turned up his lips. He already knew he wouldn’t ask for Kit’s book, though. He wouldn’t let anyone read it. Alice had only asked for one thing, and she deserved to have it after he’d spent so long hating her and believing the worst.

Leaving the bed, Quentin shuffled through several boxes, finding the one he was looking for and unwrapping a pair of pajama pants from around a set of photos. Alice’s portrait, taken during their first year at Brakebills stared up at him, her expression serious, almost grim. His brow furrowed slightly when he saw the snapshot of himself and Eliot behind it, but he didn’t really have it in him to question its appearance at the moment.

Using the pajama pants to dust off the frame, Quentin carefully placed the photo on his dresser. He didn’t need it, but he thought maybe he’d place it in Kit’s room later, when she wasn’t occupied with Margo. He’d always felt fortunate that Kit didn’t ask about her mother very often, but he’d seen her look at the photo more than once. She knew Alice was her mother.

What if it was his fault she didn’t ask? 

Kit was different, and not just because of her strange magic. Some of it was Quentin’s fault, he knew. She was far more perceptive than he’d ever expected a child to be, her eyes darting worriedly over his face on mornings when he was too quiet, shaking him awake the few times he’d let his depression get the better of him and had slept through half the day, her determined little fingers digging into his arms. He’d never raised his voice at her in anger, never yelled outside of the times she’d honestly scared the shit out of him, but he knew he worried her at times. Sometimes he grew silent, or refused to eat, or sighed loudly at her when she wanted his attention. He tried not to dwell on the guilt he felt after his bad days; he knew no parent was perfect. He and Julia had explained his depression to her in the simplest way they could think of—Julia had insisted. Quentin had agreed because he never wanted Kit to feel afraid or alone. She always had the option to call Julia if she was worried about him. 

He knew Kit was very tuned into his moods, his feelings. It wasn’t a leap to assume that she’d figured out he didn’t like talking about Alice. He wasn’t exactly sure how to fix that, but he was determined to try. Kit deserved to know her mother. 

Quentin left his room, intending to relieve Margo from combing Kit’s hair, but she took one look at his tear-stained face and ordered him to go take a shower. Kit appeared to be behaving so he agreed, but by the time he was finished and dressed, the two of them were gone. He took the opportunity to place Alice’s picture on Kit’s dresser before leaving her room to take the elevator down to the lobby. 

Eliot’s eyes fastened on him the moment he entered the dining room, full of badly disguised worry before he returned his attention to the thick book in front of him, and Quentin wondered what Margo had said to him. He was surprised to see Kit already set up at the table behind them with her school supplies, her hair neatly pulled back in a simple ponytail. He gave a small smile of thanks to Margo before moving a chair between the two tables, allowing him to help Kit and look over what Margo had brought back from the Library. “What are these exactly?” he asked as he thumbed through a stack of printouts. 

“They’re all from different books,” Margo explained, her own stack in front of her. “I’m not sure if any of it’s useful, but I couldn’t bring the actual books with me. That,” she said, pointing to the book Eliot was currently reading, “is a journal. Apparently some guy way back when invited himself to follow our friends around for a few years.”

“Wow, really?” Quentin looked over at the book, his eyes widening when he noticed the cramped text and barely legible handwriting. He opened his mouth to ask Eliot if he was having trouble with it and immediately snapped it shut, reminding himself that it was none of his business. He was pretty sure dyslexia never went away or got better, but maybe Eliot had learned new ways to deal with it over the years.

“Okay, now that we’re all here,” Margo began, crossing her arms on the surface of the table. “Something is fucked up with the McAlisters.”

Eliot snorted softly, his brow arching.  _ “That’s  _ your big news?”

Margo flapped a hand at him like she’d hit him if he were closer. “More fucked than usual,” she said, leaning forward. “They don’t have books. I mean, they  _ do,  _ but they weren’t out on the floor with everything else. When I asked, I was told they were in the restricted section.”

Quentin paused in his effort to organize the loose papers still scattered across the table. “Restricted? Why?”

“Fuck if I know. I’ve never heard of that before. And after I asked, I could tell I was being followed around, so I took off.”

“Well, that’s… concerning,” Eliot admitted, his forehead creasing. His lip suddenly curled as they all heard footsteps in the hall and Eliot cursed quietly when Todd appeared seconds later.

“Good morning!” Todd greeted them enthusiastically, his eyes bright. “Wow, looks like you guys are really into something already.”

Margo sighed. “What do you want, Todd?”

“Oh, I was just going to ask if today was a good time for me to run to the store? We’re low on a few things.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” she replied, reaching into the tote bag hanging from the back of her chair. She withdrew a slim wallet and handed the man a credit card. “Make sure to get some kid stuff, okay?” She looked to Quentin. “What’s she like?”

Quentin shook his head. “I’ll get us some stuff later, don’t worry about it.”

Margo fixed him with a dark stare as Todd gingerly removed the card from her hand. “I’m buying today. Two trips would be stupid.”

“Margo, it’s—”

“Kit, honey, what’s your favorite?” Margo called over him, leaning back to look at the girl. 

_ “Margo,”  _ Quentin said again, and heard Eliot chuckle under his breath.

“Oh, I like pudding!” Kit announced. “And candy! And yogurt! And mac ‘n cheese!” 

Margo smiled, looking up towards Todd. “Get that?” she asked.

Todd nodded immediately, his lips curling up. “Got it.” 

Before Quentin could argue, Todd quickly left the dining room, so he settled his glare on Margo instead. She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Please. Like you’re scary.”

“I can pay for our groceries,” he said mulishly, pouting down at the papers in his hand. 

“I’m well aware. But why bother when my dad can do it?” she asked with an impish smirk. Eliot laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Anyway, I was thinking, if the Library is making sure no one can read the McAlister books, do you think they’re involved?”

“I guess they could be,” Eliot replied, “But it could be for other reasons, too. What if they paid the Library to move them? They’ve got the money.”

“No joke. And probably thousands of skeletons in their closets they don’t want anyone seeing. You don’t get as powerful as they are with good deeds.” She met Quentin’s eyes, her expression turning more careful. “So, was there anything useful in your letter?”

“Useful?” he echoed, seeing Eliot look his way as well. “Um, not really. Just… I shouldn’t really talk about it right now,” he told them, jerking his head towards Kit. Margo nodded in understanding. “I-I think it could mean we figure this all out, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“Hey, that’s not nothing,” Margo replied, flipping through the loose papers. “Because I feel like I’ve got jack shit right now.”

“I think this may end up being helpful,” Eliot said, his finger tracing over the half page of notes he’d taken so far. “This guy seems pretty obsessive with everything about fa—” He quickly shut his mouth, eyes going wide before he smiled. “Our friends.”

“Yeah?” Quentin tilted his head to get a better look at the text, and also seeing an opportunity. “Do you think I could take a look at it? German was about the only language I aced.”

Eliot arched a brow, giving him a very knowing look, but slid the book towards him after a moment, looking more amused than annoyed. Quentin felt himself blushing and whispered a thank you as he situated the book in front of him. 

Time passed quietly as the three adults read and Kit worked on her addition problems, quietly counting pictures of the farm animals printed on her worksheets before adding them together. 

Quentin was focused entirely on the journal, barely remembering to take notes as he read over the cramped script. It was actually fascinating. The author, one Elias Koch, had been a classically trained magician but had never agreed on the treatment of certain magical creatures, fairies especially. He’d spent years gaining their hesitant trust before they’d allowed him to assist in finding a safer place for them to live. From Germany (actually Prussia at the time), he’d travelled with a group of fairies, safely leading them out of the country. His notes were meticulous, just badly spelled. He documented everything he saw or overheard, filling pages with theories and speculation. Quentin jotted down anything that could be useful, but was frustrated over several mentions of how the fairies were “abused,” “maimed,” or “slaughtered” for their magic. There was no explanation beyond that. How had humans stolen magic from fairies? And why? Only magicians knew about fairies, and they already had magic. Why steal it? 

Quentin was pulled from his musings by the scrape of Eliot’s chair across the floor and glanced up to see him walking away to meet Todd in the hallway. He withheld a sigh when he saw how perfectly Eliot’s pants fit, taking a moment to stare and just  _ want  _ before forcing his eyes away. 

“Such a slut,” Margo whispered, and when Quentin looked at her with wide eyes, she was grinning. “Yeah, I saw you.”

He looked down towards the book again, feeling his face burn. “Shut up.”

“What? It’s a nice view.”

Quentin only shook his head, refusing to comment. Margo snickered but thankfully dropped the subject, returning to her reading while Eliot helped Todd put away the groceries. 

**Eliot**

After the groceries were put away and Todd disappeared again, Eliot returned to the table and tried to focus on the printouts he’d chosen to read after Quentin had not-so-smoothly stolen the book from him. He seemed to be going through it much more quickly than Eliot had been able to, his eyebrows pressing together every few minutes before he’d write something on the legal pad at his side. 

As the morning turned to afternoon, Margo ordered a simple lunch of pizza and salads, but only Kit left her work to eat, sitting in Quentin’s lap while she fed him bites of pizza between her own, keeping her plate carefully away from the aged book he continued to read. 

Eliot pretended to read as he studied the two of them with quick, furtive glances. He’d never thought to imagine what a child of Quentin’s might be like; he’d never really thought much of children at all, not since he’d left his army of younger cousins behind in Indiana. Still, he had a lot of memories of what those kids had been like—loud, for the most part. Messy. Annoying. 

He wasn’t sure if it was his because he was older now, but he hadn’t found Kit annoying at all. Yet. And watching her argue with her father on how half a slice of pizza wasn’t enough for him, leaving his lap to slide another slice from the box at the next table onto her plate before returning to very carefully place the plate in an open spot on the table before crawling onto his legs again…

It reminded him of Julia. 

Eliot honestly didn’t know if it was behavior the girl had learned from watching Julia or if it was her own concern. He wondered how often Kit had witnessed Quentin’s depressive states, if he’d been hospitalized again in the years they’d been apart. It didn’t really spark any huge concern within him, since Kit was smiling as she poked a sausage past Quentin’s lips, Quentin jerking back in surprise before he teasingly pulled at his daughter’s ponytail. But after that, he did push the book aside long enough to finish another slice, and Kit looked a little smug as she went to get another for herself, returning to her own table with it. 

Soon after that, the first of his hedges began to roll in, and Eliot had to leave Margo and Quentin to continue without him. Thursdays were when his youngest hedge came in regularly, and he smiled when Octavia entered the room with her mother, Emma, both of them bundled in their winter coats, already prepared to practice outside. Eliot led the way, smiling pleasantly, as Emma was very timid and spoke very little English. Eliot spoke enough Russian to get through conversations with her most of the time, but she preferred a spectator role in these sessions, always nodding encouragingly at her daughter and trusting Eliot to guide Octavia in controlling her magic. 

Octavia spoke perfect English, fortunately, and he spent an hour with her, reviewing spells she’d already learned to call flame between her hands and assisting her and extinguishing it, which was much more difficult for her. He assured her she was getting a handle on it and she smiled up at him with bright gray eyes.

Eliot’s warming spell had worn off at some point during the lesson and he hadn’t bothered to recast it, so he was freezing by the time he returned inside to walk Emma and Octavia to the door. When he returned to the dining room, he found Quentin in a much different mood than he’d left him in and his brow furrowed slightly as he took a seat at the table. Quentin didn’t register his presence, one hand almost clenched in his hair as he was bent over the book, a grim look on his face. Eliot looked at Margo, who only shrugged slightly before returning to her own reading. 

As time passed, Eliot grew more concerned, watching Quentin’s fingers twitch and pull at his hair, listening to his quiet, frequent sighs. Once he slapped his pen onto the paper in a way Eliot was all too familiar with… it was time to say something.

“Q, did you find something?” he asked as casually as possible.

Quentin frowned deeply, looking dangerously close to tears before forcing his eyes up from the book. “I just… there’s this whole entry on, um, their deals, and… they can’t be broken. Like at  _ all.  _ He thought it could be, but they apparently got super offended when he asked about it, so he wrote that he thought it was some point or honor, or some kind of secret they wouldn’t tell him— it’s something that just wasn’t done. And if it can’t be broken… how the fuck can I fix this? It’s impossible.”

Margo glanced at Eliot and must have read something on his face because she looked momentarily panicked before she reached across the table to cover Quentin’s left hand with her own. “Hey. They can’t  _ make  _ a deal if it can’t be completed. I know that much, okay?”

Quentin sighed loudly, practically vibrating in his seat. “Okay, but… I mean, why wouldn’t they break it themselves?”

Eliot shrugged. “Maybe they don’t know how?” he suggested. “And if the queen isn’t here, maybe she can’t get here to do it herself?”

“Or maybe it’s super taboo,” Margo added, “so she’s making you do it.”

“I-I guess, but… this just…” Quentin trailed off, looking hopeless as he pushed the book away from him, leaving the table and disappearing outside. 

“Well, shit,” Eliot said softly, starting to turn towards Margo but Kit caught his eye instead from her table, looking worried, and seeing her usually cheerful expression absent made his decision for him. He left his chair to follow Quentin outside. 

He’d already helped himself to the pack Eliot kept outside, sitting in one of his familiar impossible positions in one of the patio chairs, one leg bent underneath him and the other drawn up to his chest. He shook his head slightly as he caught sight of Eliot, shrinking somewhat in his seat. Telling himself it didn’t necessarily mean Quentin didn’t want company, Eliot took a seat on the other side of the table, taking a cigarette of his own from the pack and snapping it to light. 

After a moment, he watched Quentin wet his lips anxiously. “You don’t have to, like, check on me,” he said, his eyes darting over the table and out towards the rest of the courtyard. “I’m fine.”

Eliot huffed out a silent laugh. “Okay, I know I was on an appalling amount of drugs back in the day, but I think I remember what it looks like when you’re not fine, Q.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you have to sign on to deal with my shit again,” Quentin said almost snappishly, and it hurt, even if he knew Quentin was angry at himself and not him. It also made something almost feral, something he’d locked away years ago, gnash its teeth deep within Eliot’s mind. Ashamed, he ignored it. 

“Quentin,” he began, leaning forward slightly, and taking a moment to take a deep drag of nicotine into his lungs before continuing. “That tattoo on your neck means that’s exactly what I signed up for.”

Off Quentin’s confused look, he forced himself to go on. “People come here because they aren’t good enough. Or they’ve hurt someone. Or they’ve been alienated. Magic comes with a boatload of shit for everyone. And I’m not qualified.” He laughed humorlessly. “I think you of all people are aware of that, but I fucking try. That’s all I can do.”

Quentin held his eye for a moment, looking stunned before he let out a heavy breath, looking away. “I just… I can’t see a way that this ends well, El.”

“Margo already said—”

“I know. There has to be a way. But if I can’t convince a fairy to break the deal, what other way is there? Like, what if someone dies for this? Because I seriously fucking doubt the queen would give a shit, as long as she gets what she wants.” Quentin’s voice began to tremble as he went on. “And A-Alice. God, I guess she  _ did  _ die for this, and what if I fuck it all up?”

Eliot went still at the mention of Alice. “Wait, was that who left the letter?” he asked.

Quentin nodded, sniffling. “Yeah. She, um. She read Kit’s book. She did the spell to make the fairy deal happen, not because… not for any other reason. It was like a causal loop? She did it because she read that she did it.”

“O-Oh,” Eliot said, settling back into his chair. That was… confusing. And also heavy, and knowing Quentin, he was probably feeling some sort of misplaced guilt about it. “Okay, well, did she say anything else?”

“Not anything that would give us a lead on this, no. She just asked me not to read Kit’s book. And I won’t, not after I’ve pretty much hated her this whole time, but after reading all that… What if it’s because someone gets killed?” His eyes met Eliot’s, full of fear.  _ “I  _ made the deal. And the more people I drag into this, the more dangerous it is to everyone. That’s not fair.”

“Q, it’s only been a couple of days,” Eliot reminded him. He could see Quentin’s anxiety ramping up, his eyes darting around with the speed of his negative thoughts, his fingers pulling at the cuffs of his sweatshirt. Years ago, Eliot had known how to help him, but all of those methods had required touching Quentin in some way—gently tugging at his hair, kneading the back of his neck, massaging his hands. All grounding touches that had sometimes worked to calm the man down, bring him back to Earth. Eliot no longer had those at his disposal, and he was shit with words. “We have time to figure this out,” he continued. “We have time to make sure no one gets hurt, okay? I obviously didn’t know Alice, but maybe she was afraid if she gave you details, things would get fucked up. And this was only Margo’s first trip to the Library. There’s probably hundreds of relevant books.”

Quentin nodded jerkily before putting his cigarette back to his lips, staring vacantly out towards the alley. Eliot was searching for something else to say when Quentin spoke. “I… I didn’t want to be like this. Again. I was… I don’t know, thinking of calling Julia and falling the fuck apart, but I’m still pissed at her, so—thanks.”

Eliot shook his head, momentarily at a loss for words. He’d never understood why Quentin believed himself to be such a huge burden just for having fucking feelings. “You’re not  _ like  _ anything,” Eliot assured him, tapping ashes onto the patio. “You have every right to be worried, Q. God, I can’t even imagine. But Margo and I, we’ll help you figure this out. Julia too, once you two are done being all passive aggressive and work your shit out.” Quentin scoffed loudly, but Eliot saw the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “If the deal couldn’t be completed, I don’t think Alice would have given her life to make sure it happened. Do you?”

Quentin quickly shook his head, his eyes filling with tears. Eliot pretended not to notice, since there was nothing he could do about it, and after a moment Quentin quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt. “You know, the thing you said earlier, about not being qualified.” Quentin laughed wetly, meeting Eliot’s eye. “You know you’re full of shit, right?”

Eliot managed to smile weakly, forcing himself to ignore the depth of emotion in Quentin’s eyes. Because he knew he wasn’t just talking about the conversation they were currently having, and Eliot couldn’t go there, not without getting emotional himself. Maybe one day, when just seeing Quentin in front of him, really _there_ again after so long, didn’t light up his nerves like a goddamn Christmas tree. Maybe one day when he was over… all of it.

_ Yeah. Sure. _

Hearing voices through the dining room windows, Eliot sighed and stubbed out his cigarette in the glass ashtray. His first real group of hedges were arriving for the day, done with work and classes. “I should get inside and do my actual job,” he laughed. Quentin’s mouth quirked in the ghost of the smile. Not much, but he’d take it. 

“Yeah, I’ll come inside soon,” Quentin told him and Eliot nodded, reluctantly leaving him alone in the courtyard. 

Inside, he found Margo helping Kit put her school things away and left her to it, greeting the hedges who had arrived and returning to the table to read until someone needed him. It didn’t take long, and the afternoon passed into evening as Eliot passed out binders, corrected finger positions and tested levels. 

When Kit tugged at his sleeve to tell him good-night, Eliot was surprised to find it was already past eight, and he looked up to see Quentin waiting on his daughter with a small smile. He told the little girl good-night and watched her follow Quentin out of the room before returning his attention to the conversation he’d been having on portal theory with one of the higher level hedges. The dining room became emptier as the hour grew later and Eliot realized when it was nearly ten that Quentin had never returned. 

Margo kissed his cheek goodnight around eleven, and after that, Eliot silently let everyone know he was finished for the night, gathering up binders and cleaning up messes left behind by those who had snuck out without him noticing. Kady and Todd were still around and got up to help, though Eliot rolled his eyes when Todd went to check the doors. He knew Eliot would check them again, never trusting anyone but himself to make sure everyone within the hotel was safe. With the McAllisters after Q, he made sure to go over all the wards with a critical eye once he was alone on the first floor, checking for weak points or signs someone had tampered with them. Finding nothing, he returned to the dining room instead of the elevator, taking out the book and printouts Margo had locked away earlier to hide them from curious eyes.

Margo’s notes were on top of the stack and Eliot looked them over, smiling when he noticed she’d been compiling a list of fairy talents and magic more than she’d been searching for a way to solve the issue of the deal. While Eliot found the question of Kit’s magic important, he was much more determined to find something that would give them a lead.

Setting the stack of printouts and notes aside, Eliot reluctantly opened the book to the place Quentin had marked with a torn piece of paper, picking up where he’d left off before disappearing upstairs. He found his own pad of notes and a pen, ready to write down any hard to decipher words he would need to look up on his phone. 

He scanned over several boring pages that detailed the landscape, the weather, the “plentiful” game found in the area the author had been traveling in. The man was  _ verbose.  _ But Eliot eventually reached the end of another day’s travel within the text, where Koch began to go into detail of the conversation that had happened around a fire that night. When Eliot saw the word  _ “gebӓren,”  _ he frowned and typed it into Google. “Birthing?”

Reading over the sentence again, he realized the phrase was literally “birthing sack.”  _ What the fuck?  _

Curiosity piqued, he silently translated each word under his breath instead of scanning the text for interesting keywords. It was slow going, but there was no one around to hear the long pauses as his dyslexia and his very passable knowledge of German (thank you,  _ Quentin)  _ squared off against each other. 

“I have… learned this evening that these… creatures… emerge from a type of  _ birthing sack.”  _

Lips drawing down in mild disgust, Eliot made note of the new piece of information before reading on. That night, the fairies had explained to Koch that each one of them had been planted in the soil and had grown there until strong enough to dig their way out. Their magic was absorbed from the earth itself; they were born with it literally running through their veins, part of every cell. 

Eliot read through several pages of Koch’s notes, which detailed why exactly the fairies with him had been seeking a warmer climate. The warmth and humidity was required for the fairies to grow, and the only reason they had been scattered all over the world had been out of necessity, from so many magicians hunting them down.

“Fucking  _ why,  _ though?” he whispered to himself in frustration, pausing to take notes on what he’d read. 

Tapping the point of his pen against the page, Eliot scraped his teeth over his lip before reaching for Margo’s notes, her bubbly, rounded handwriting still neat for all its cuteness. Seeing several of Kit’s abilities listed on the page, he recalled Quentin mentioning they’d all spent a lot of time in the fairy realm. Had it been when Alice was pregnant? 

Though it made him squirm a little to think about it, what was really warmer or more humid than a fucking  _ womb?  _ What if the magic of Fillory (and Eliot knew Fillory was the source of Earth’s magic, thank you Bambi), along with the perfect conditions, had somehow influenced Kit’s growth? 

He wanted to text Quentin to bounce the idea off his over-analytic brain, but glancing at the screen of his phone, Eliot saw it was approaching one-thirty in the morning. He placed Quentin’s paper inside the book to mark for later and quickly returned everything to a locked cabinet before checking the doors one more time and heading towards the elevator. He’d have to wait until morning, though the temptation to stop on Quentin’s floor was very present. The man had suffered with insomnia all his life; there was a good chance he was actually awake, reading or scrolling through nerd forums on his phone. Still, knocking on Quentin’s door at this hour could be… misinterpreted by Quentin. Or hey, let’s be honest—by himself, especially if Quentin answered the door in those tragic boxers Eliot had just packed up in his apartment and nothing else. 

Rolling his eyes at his own train of thought, Eliot stepped into the silence of his own apartment, only to immediately shiver as the frigid air welcomed him beyond the elevator doors.

Fuck this, he was sleeping with Margo.

Pouting and exhausted, Eliot grabbed his robe from the bedroom and made his way downstairs. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I actually updated on time! Thank you all for your lovely comments and your patience. I'm on Tumblr as obsidianschild if you want to follow me, but outside of fic updates and sharing lots of Queliot gifs, I mostly just share dumb videos. Hope you enjoy!

**Stay**

**Eliot**

Eliot woke before his alarm the following morning, wrinkling his nose at the tickle of Margo’s hair against his face. Carefully, he pulled his arm away from her, leaving the warm bed as quietly as possible and grabbing his phone before making his way up to his own apartment. 

Whining pathetically at the cold air, he quickly made his way to the bathroom, running the hottest water he could handle before undressing to step under the spray. He was definitely calling someone about the fucking heat. Wasn’t warm air supposed to rise or something? He was on the top fucking floor…

He dressed quickly and reluctantly pulled a thick cardigan from his dresser, shrugging it on and checking his reflection. Eliot didn’t typically wear sweaters at all, as they fucked with his lines, but he couldn’t deny they were necessary at times. It was also Friday, which meant several of his hedges didn’t have class and he’d probably be out in the courtyard more than once. 

Stepping into the lobby after he was ready to face the day, Eliot basked in the rare silence, glancing out toward the still-empty street before making his way to the dining room, wondering if they had everything he’d need for strawberry crepes. Margo had been a little bitchy over being woken up the night before, and he figured buttering her up with her favorite breakfast might smooth things over.

He hadn’t been expecting to find Kit in the room by herself, but that’s exactly what Eliot found when he slipped quietly through the doorway. He paused as he watched her studying a book before her on the table, her lips twisted adorably in concentration. Every book in the room contained magic of some sort—spells, theory, circumstances… even history. The small girl was looking intently at the page and he wondered exactly how much she could read, or if she was just pretending.

Eliot held his breath when Kit lifted her hands before her face, glancing at the book again before her lips flattened in concentration and she began moving her fingers.

Jesus Christ, she was looking at Poppers.

_ “Hey,”  _ he announced himself more loudly than he’d intended, quickly crossing the room as Kit yelped, her eyes flaring wide. “What do you think you’re doing?” He wasn’t thrilled with the sharpness of his tone, especially when Kit looked up at him fearfully, but Christ his heart was pounding. 

“I wanted to do magic like everyone else does,” she said quietly. “With my hands.”

Eliot took a moment, forcing his racing heart to slow. “Kit,” he said calmly, reaching slowly for the book and turning it to see what she’d been attempting. Not a dangerous tut on its own, but still. “You could have hurt yourself.”

The girl frowned down at the page, shaking her head. “Isn’t it to unlock things?” she asked, pointing to the description. “I could read that part.”

“Yes, that’s what it’s for,” he agreed. “But if you’d done anything wrong, it’s very similar to another spell that breaks glass.” He closed the book and stepped around the table to return it to a shelf. 

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, her face absolutely pitiful as she stared up at him. Eliot thanked the gods she didn’t have her father’s brown eyes. 

“Probably, but that’s not up to me.” He held his hand out, motioning for her to join him. “Come on, let’s find your dad.”

Fortunately, Kit didn’t argue with him. She just slipped her tiny hand into his and let him lead her to the elevator. Though as soon as they reached the sixth floor she ran from him, disappearing into her room and closing the door behind her.  _ Fuck, she’s going to hate me,  _ Eliot thought, sighing loudly.

He took a moment to collect himself before walking past Kit’s door and knocking on Quentin’s. He was about to knock again when the door opened, and Eliot’s mouth went dry as he was presented with a very sleep-mussed Quentin, looking just as dangerous as he’d imagined the night before, wearing nothing but a pair of ill-fitting boxers. God, he was… _unfairly_ attractive with his half-asleep frown, and it took every ounce of willpower Eliot possessed not to step into Quentin’s space and just—see what happened, consequences be damned. He couldn’t stop himself from taking a quick look, however, his eyes greedily tracing the curves of Quentin’s usually hidden biceps before dipping down to reacquaint himself with the thick hair on his legs, remembering how deceptively strong his calves were, how they’d wrapped around his...

“Eliot?” Quentin asked, voice rough from sleep.

“Um, hey,” he said, blinking to clear the filthy thoughts from his mind. “Sorry to wake you, but I kind of found Kit downstairs.”

Quentin’s eyes opened slightly more at that and he brought his hand up to rub at one of them. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“That part’s fine, it’s just... I interrupted her practicing Poppers.”

Quentin’s eyebrows shot up, eyes fully opening as they darted down around Eliot’s hips to look for his daughter. “Where is she?” he asked, his voice flat and angry.

“Her room,” Eliot replied, trying not to wince. “I’m not sure she actually managed to do any before I stopped her. I’ll, um, find a way to keep the books out of reach, but—”

“No, El, that’s not…” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “She knows better. I’ll talk to her, just…” He looked at Eliot sheepishly, crossing his arms over his chest as he laughed softly. “I’m really sorry. She’s usually pretty well-behaved.”

Eliot shrugged. “It’s a new place and new people,” he said. “She’s curious.”

“Yeah, but that curiosity could get someone hurt, especially her. I’ll um… take care of it. Thanks.”

He could only nod before stepping back to allow Quentin to close the door. 

  
  


**Quentin**

Quentin closed the door, sighing a bit unevenly as he ran his hands through his hair. He knew he needed to deal with Kit, but it was difficult to shake off the realization of Eliot’s gaze on him. He hadn’t thought anything was strange about it until he was fully awake, but now…

He’d imagined it, right? He’d seen what he remembered, what he wanted to, as much as he tried to keep their past—well, in the past. Eliot had only looked anxious once he’d explained his reason for knocking. Maybe he had just been surprised and Quentin’s mostly asleep brain had imagined something different? 

Chewing at his lip, Quentin found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt to throw on before letting himself into Kit’s room. It was obvious she knew the trouble she was in; she’d burrowed under her blankets to hide from him.

Shaking his head with a smile, Quentin took a seat on the corner of the bed. “Kit, we have to talk about this.”

“Nn,” she replied, the child-sized lump in the bed shaking a bit.

“What you did was dangerous. You could have really hurt yourself.”

“I only looked at pages I could read!” she cried, her voice slightly muffled. 

“That doesn’t matter. Those spells are complicated. One wrong move and you could have done something to hurt yourself. And on top of that, you know not to touch things that don’t belong to you.”

The blankets moved again and Kit appeared, her tiny eyebrows drawn together. “Don’t they belong to everyone?”

“I mean… yeah? But—”

“And I’m a witch, too. Margo said. And I live here. So the books are mine, too.”

Quentin nodded. “Okay, I can’t argue with that. I should have told you. Still, I’m pretty sure you knew you were doing something dangerous, because you’re smart.”

Kit’s eyes dropped away from his. “I just wanted to be like you, a-and everyone else.” She hesitantly looked towards the photo he’d placed on her dresser the day before and Quentin held his breath. She didn’t speak, though.

“And maybe your mom?” he gently prodded. 

Her eyes widened a bit before she turned to look at him. “Why’d you give it to me?” she asked.

Quentin wasn’t about to tell her he’d spent the last five years too angry at Alice to even look at the photo. He wouldn’t tell her about the horomancy spell. “I just… when I unpacked it, I thought maybe you’d want it. If you don’t, we can talk about that. We can talk either way.”

“But you don’t. Neither does Aunt Jules.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… a lot of scary stuff happened when you were a baby. And death can be scary to talk about too, you know.”

“Did I do something scary?” she asked.

Quentin was shocked by the question, his mouth falling open. “What? No! No, sweetie. You were… when your mom died, you got kidnapped. You didn’t do anything. Why would you think that?”

Kit shrugged. “You talked about Grandpa. You told me about cancer. But you never talked about her. And sometimes you don’t like when I do magic.” She chewed at her lip, her eyes turned inward. “Did the kidnapper kill her?” Kit whispered. “Like that man tried to hurt you?”

“Um. No.” Quentin curled his fingers around his thigh. He hadn’t expected to have this talk today. He’d thought Julia would be with him, would help him decide how much Kit could handle and what to leave out. “Your mom,” he began. “She was really good at magic.”

“Like Aunt Jules?”

He smiled, nodding. “Y-Yeah. Just as good. But she could do things, with light? Really beautiful things. It was just sometimes, she pushed herself too hard. She tried to do things she wasn’t ready for, and… that’s what happened to her.”

“She hurt herself doing magic?”

Quentin nodded, pressing his lips together to keep them from trembling. “And we’ve talked about Fillory, right?”

Kit nodded quickly. “Yeah. We’re going to start reading the books on my seventh birthday,” she recited, remembering his promise to her. She was wildly curious about the books she so often saw in his hands. 

“That’s right. The thing is… Fillory is real.” Kit’s eyebrows rose dramatically. “And you were with your mom in Fillory when she, um, died.”

“And someone kidnapped me after that? Where were you?”

“I… I didn’t know she took you there. You were supposed to be visiting her parents. We went to look for you, but couldn’t find you. The, um, people who took you—they were fairies.”

Kit gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Like Tinkerbell?”

“Uh… no. Not like that. Fairies in Fillory are different. Not so, um—nice? You remember the lady at the shop?”

“The funny looking lady?”

“Yeah. She was a fairy.”

Kit’s face fell. “She didn’t look like one. She just had weird eyes. She didn’t even have wings!”

Quentin shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Anyway, the fairies have a queen. She had you, and I had to… I had to agree to do something for her, to get her to give you back. That’s what I’m working on with Eliot and Margo.”

Kit glanced at Alice’s photo again. “Is my mom in Fillory still?”

Quentin frowned, confused. “Kit, she’s, um. She’s gone. You know that.”

“I know, but we visit Grandpa. In the cemetery. Is there a Fillory cemetery?”

_ Oh.  _ “Well… I’m sure there might be, but she’s, um. She’s got her own place. Near a castle.”’

“Really, a castle? Was it the queen’s that stole me?”

“No, the fairies have their own place in Fillory. But your dad just happens to know the king and queens of Fillory, and so did your mom. So they gave her a place there.”

Kit smiled. “That sounds nice.”

Quentin wasn’t sure; he’d never been back to Fillory. “I’m… yeah. It is.”

“Can we go?”

Quentin hadn’t been expecting such a request. “Um. I, uh. Maybe one day? We need to lay low for right now, though.”

“Because of the man at the store?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what he wants, so we need to stay here for now. I just want you to know, you can ask about your mom, okay? I know I haven’t been… great at that before. I’m sorry. But it won’t upset me, I promise.”

“Okay.” Kit looked at him closely before she spoke again. “I dream about her sometimes.”

“Yeah?” He reached out to smooth her hair down, messy from being rubbed against her blankets. “Are they good dreams?”

Her lips twisted thoughtfully. “They’re kind of boring. We just sit in this big room full of books and she asks me lots of stuff. Sometimes I ask her stuff too, but it’s not the same stuff.”

“What does she ask you?”

“Mostly about my magic. I make flowers for her and she makes me move the books around. She shows me stuff and tries to get me to do it, but I usually can’t.”

“Oh?” Quentin found this more interesting than he’d expected; Kit’s dreams were usually nonsensical when she talked about them, and hamsters were involved more often than not. “What did she try to show you?”

“How to make a rainbow, but I couldn’t. She tries a lot. She showed me how to make the bomb, though.”

Quentin’s brow furrowed. “Bomb?”

“Yeah, the thing I did that made the man let me go. I can do that one.”

He felt a shiver roll down his back. “O-Oh. Okay. What do you ask her about?”

Kit smiled. “Her favorite color. And animal. And book. And if she liked pizza or Chinese better.”

“Yeah? Those are good questions. I could answer them sometime, if you want.”

She shook her head. “She told me, though. She likes black. And pizza, but only if there are no olives. And she  _ really  _ loves horses.”

The shiver became a block of ice. “Oh. Okay. Kit, do you—do you dream about her a lot?”

“No. Just sometimes.”

Quentin didn’t want to alert Kit to anything being wrong, but it was hard to smile. Was it possible that Alice was somehow entering Kit’s dreams? Could niffins do that? If they could, was Kit in danger? 

“Okay. Do you want to get dressed and find some breakfast?”

Kit nodded. “Am I in trouble, though?”

“Not this time, but you really can’t do that anymore, okay? Eliot wants to help you learn magic, but we need to figure out a few things first.”

Kit frowned. “Margo can’t teach me?”

It was hard not to laugh. Kit didn’t mind making her preferences known at all. “I mean, maybe. Do you not like Eliot?”

“No, I like him. I just like Margo more.”

The laugh escaped. “Okay. Well, we can see about that, but did you know Eliot can move stuff like you can?”

Kit’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s been practicing for a really long time, too.”

She tilted her head as she considered. “I guess he could teach me that stuff, then.”

“That’s really generous of you,” he said, with as much sincerity as he could muster without cracking up. “So, how about we get you dressed and head downstairs, and you can apologize to Eliot for scaring him?”

Kit scowled, but slowly nodded her head in agreement.

**Eliot**

Eliot was nearly finished making breakfast when Kit entered, her small hands twisting together nervously over her stomach. Quentin stepped in behind her but remained in the doorway, watching his daughter expectantly. 

“Eliot,” she said gravely, her eyebrows drawn together. “I’m a-sposed to say sorry for reading the book, even though my daddy didn’t tell me I couldn’t.”

Eliot bit his lip to stop himself from grinning as Quentin’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Kit, that’s not what I asked you to say.”

Kit turned away from Eliot. “You said I wasn’t in trouble, and you  _ said  _ you didn’t tell me I couldn’t read the books.”

Quentin sighed, his eyes falling shut for a moment. “I also said you’re smart enough to know better, but you conveniently forgot that, huh?”

“I… Yeah.” Slowly, Kit faced Eliot again, her shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, Eliot.”

“Apology accepted,” he replied, flipping the last of the crepes onto a plate. 

Kit smiled up at him before hurriedly running past her father to escape the room.

“What’s all that?” Quentin asked, looking at the counter full of Eliot’s breakfast preparations. 

“My own apology,” Eliot laughed, starting to spoon the cream cheese mixture and strawberry onto the crepes. 

“Looks like you really fucked up, then,” Quentin said with a crooked smile.

“I ended up crawling into Margo’s bed last night because my heat wasn’t working, and she wasn’t all that welcoming,” he explained with an arched brow. “But having it looked at is on my list for the day, so hopefully it will no longer be an issue.”

“Well, it looks amazing.”

Eliot gave him a doubtful look. “I seem to recall you saying that about a Shoney’s buffet once, so that doesn’t help much.”

Quentin snickered, his eyes crinkling and dimples showing as he shook his head. “You’re such a dick.” Eliot was so enchanted by the sight of those dimples he nearly spooned the strawberries onto his shirt, catching himself as Quentin’s expression turned more serious. “Hey. Do you, uh, know anything about niffins?”

“I know how they happen, but beyond that I don’t think anyone knows very much outside of trapping them.” Seeing the worry Quentin was failing to hide, he set the bowl aside. “Was it something from the letter?”

“N-No, just something Kit said. It’s probably nothing.” 

Eliot gave a slow nod before turning back towards the counter. “Your face is saying otherwise.”

He heard Quentin sigh. “Okay, it might not be nothing. I just really don’t want to call Julia yet.”

“Is Julia some sort of expert on niffins, too?”

“Uh—no? But I don’t know who else to ask, and she’s got the Brakebills library.”

“I guess that’s true, but Margo’s eventually going to go back to the Neitherlands. There’s no reason she can’t look something up for you.” Done with the filling, he turned Quentin’s way again. “What happened, Q?”

“I, uh, told Kit about the fairies. Well, the five-year-old friendly version. Alice came up, and we just—she’s never really asked about her all that much, so I thought it would be good to talk about her.” Eliot nodded in understanding. “But she said she’s been dreaming about Alice, and the more she talked... I don’t think they’re just dreams.”

Eliot frowned in concern. “You haven’t—seen Alice since everything happened, right?”

“No, never. I was kind of worried about it for a few weeks. I’ve heard stories about niffins targeting people, hurting them, but none of us ever saw her.”

“Maybe calling Julia wouldn’t be a horrible idea,” he admitted, turning back to fold the crepes. “Margo could possibly still find something, but it would be good if you could have answers sooner. If there are any. For now, let’s eat.”

Quentin helped carry the plates into the dining room, where Eliot found Margo and Kit waiting. Margo gave Eliot a very knowing look as he placed her favorite breakfast in front of her before she smirked at him. He dropped a wink at her before setting the other plate in his hand in front of Kit, who immediately picked up her fork and began cutting into it.

“You’re not even going to ask what it is?” Quentin asked, setting Eliot’s plate down and taking the last one for himself. 

“Daddy. There’s strawberries. And these look kind of like pancakes. It’s gonna be good.”

**Quentin**

Kit had been correct: Breakfast was delicious, and Quentin had cleared the table before Eliot could stand up, insisting on loading the dishwasher in thanks. Eliot had rolled his eyes but allowed it and had only nodded when Quentin had gestured towards the back door afterwards, needing a moment alone to contact Julia.

Knowing she was in class, Quentin sent a quick text asking her to call if she could, then lit one of Eliot’s cigarettes as he sat down to wait. 

He was only half finished when his phone rang and he quickly answered it. “Hey.”

“What’s wrong? I didn’t expect to hear from you for at least a week.”

“I need you to look up something for me, if you can.”

“Okay? I thought your new friends had Library access.”

Quentin rolled his eyes at her snarky tone. “Yeah, it’s not about that. I, um, talked to Kit today. About Fillory, and—what happened. I wasn’t really expecting to, but she had questions. But, um. I think maybe Alice isn’t as absent as we thought.”

“Q, what are you talking about?” Julia’s tone was guarded, but she didn’t sound like she thought he was crazy, so he continued.

“We started talking about her, Jules, and Kit said she has dreams about Alice sometimes. And it just sounded kind of strange at first, but then she said Alice was, like, testing her magic? Trying to teach her things?”

“Is that really all that strange, though? She wants to learn magic.”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing. But she said Alice taught her the spell she used the other day to get away from Edwin McAllister. She called it a bomb, and that’s pretty much the same way Eliot used to describe it when he showed it to me. It’s like a telekinetic force that goes out in all directions. It’s way too advanced for her, o-or I thought it was. I’m kind of freaking out,” he admitted, twirling the cigarette between his fingers nervously. 

“Okay. That’s… yeah, that’s a little on the nose. I’ll see if we have anything but I probably shouldn’t miss classes right now. I saw one of the McAllisters on campus this morning. Can it wait until tonight?”

“Definitely, yeah.” Quentin looked towards the door as it opened and Eliot stepped outside holding a notepad in his hand, an apologetic look on his face. “I… Do you have a second?”

“Yeah, I have my class copying notes from the board right now.”

Quentin muted his phone. “What’s up?”

“I meant to tell you earlier, but I think I might have something. I figured Julia should probably hear it, too.”

“Should be fun,” he sighed, unmuting the phone and pressing the speaker option. “Hey, Eliot’s here too. He said he might have found something last night.”

“Okay,” Julia replied, her tone much flatter than it had been. 

Eliot made a sour face at the phone in Quentin’s hand. “We’ve got this journal from a researcher that spent a lot of time with the fairies during their pre-Fillory days. And maybe I’m the last to know this, but he wrote fairies are grown in the ground?”

Quentin’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, seriously? Like plants?”

“Kind of. He said they grow in this kind of sack, and also mentioned that the weather conditions have to be warm and humid. Apparently, fairies only lived in climates conducive to breeding before magicians chased them all over the planet. He was trying to guide them somewhere safe for them to have children again. But I was thinking, what if that’s how Kit got her magic? She was… well, she had those conditions, correct? If you were in the fairy realm a lot—”

“We were,” Julia spoke up. “It was kind of an obsession. But fairies were breeding here on Earth at the time. If that were the case, wouldn’t all fetuses have fairy magic?”

“Yes, but the fairy realm is somehow a part of Fillory, which puts it much closer to the Wellspring. Also, do you know anything about the fairy realm? Like, how it was created, or what it technically  _ is?  _ Is it a mirror world, a pocket world?”

“I’m not sure, but I remember it wasn’t hot there,” Julia told him.

“No, it was pretty much like Fillory,” Quentin added. “If it was raining in Fillory, it would be raining in the fairy realm, too. So, maybe a mirror world? Does that matter?”

“It could,” Eliot said, “but I’d have to read up on it a little.”

“It was never really all that warm there,” Julia commented. “Not like it gets here. Fillory is just—milder, I guess? I don’t know how they were having any babies like that.”

“Maybe it was something in the air, or the water, or—” 

“Shit,” Quentin said, sitting up straighter in his chair. 

“What?” both Julia and Eliot asked. 

“The river. In Fillory, it’s called the Burnt River, and Chatwin’s Torrent feeds into it. We camped around it for weeks. We  _ drank  _ from it.”

“Yeah, but we tested it first,” Julia reminded him.

“Yeah, before we realized everything in the fairy realm was like a weird copy of Fillory. And nothing happened to us, so we kept drinking it. But when we found, like, the equivalent of Chatwin’s Torrent over there, the water was—really weird?”

“It was just bioluminescence, Q.”

“Yeah, and that’s weird, Julia,” he sighed. “What if there was something in it?”

“Look, let me look up the niffin thing, you look up the fairy stuff, and I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“It’s not an issue,” Julia assured him. “Be safe, Q.”

Before Quentin could respond, Julia ended the call. He pocketed the phone before standing from his chair. 

“It’s dumb, isn’t it?” Eliot asked with a wry tilt to his smile, looking a little embarrassed.

“No, El, it’s really not. It’s just hard to confirm. Actually, considering how much time we spent there and how  _ stupid  _ we were, it’s plausible. We drank the water, ate the fruit… we didn’t care, beyond knowing it wouldn’t kill us, really. There could totally be something there that gave Kit her magic. It’s a start.”

Eliot gave him a small smile. “Well, Margo’s been more focused on Kit’s magic than the fairy deal, judging by her notes. Maybe once we’re done with everything she brought back, we can see just how much of their magic she really has?”

“Yeah, we should probably test that out.” He chuckled, remembering his conversation with Kit. “She said she’d prefer Margo to teach her magic, though.”

“Oh?” Eliot asked, looking amused.

“Yeah. I told her you were the telekinetic expert, though, and she said you could help with that part.”

“What an honor,” he laughed, leading Quentin back into the warmth of the dining room. “I can’t really blame her, though. Margo’s definitely more charming.”

_ Oh, I don’t know,  _ Quentin didn’t say, only smiling at Eliot before crossing the room to start Kit on her school work for the day. Once she was ready to go, he joined Eliot and Margo to continue reading Koch’s book. 

“El, have you called about your heat?” Margo asked, giving him a pointed look as she stopped taking notes. 

“Why, Bambi, are you in some sort of hurry?” he asked lightly. 

She pointed her pen towards him. “Look, I don’t mind a drunken cuddle. I love that shit. But having a flailing giraffe in my bed when I’m stone-cold sober is not how I prefer to spend my nights.”

Eliot narrowed his eyes in an affronted glare as Quentin tried not to laugh. 

“Besides,” Margo continued, “the holidays are coming up and I don’t expect my bed to be very free for the next couple of months.”

“It’s terrible to take advantage of cuffing season like that,” Eliot told her. “But fine. I’ll call.”

“Cuffing season?” Quentin asked, confused.

Margo gave him an incredulous look. “Oh come on, Coldwater. You know. The magical time of year where everyone is looking for love? Or a reasonable facsimile?”

“I… um, no?” He shrugged. “I’ve got Kit, there hasn’t been a lot of time for, uh, dating. I guess.” Wishing he hadn’t asked, Quentin turned his attention to the badly scrawled German in front of him. 

“Are you saying you haven’t gotten laid in five years?”

Feeling his face flush, Quentin quickly shook his head. “I didn’t say that, no.”

Seeing Eliot leave the table from the corner of his eye, he risked looking up to meet Margo’s eye, finding her grinning wickedly. “How hard-up are you, exactly?”

Quentin gave her a tired look. “Who said I was?”

“Oh, please.” She glanced at Eliot before leveling him with a knowing look. “He’s not paying attention if you want to get another look for your spank bank.”

“Jesus,” Quentin hissed, looking away from her. “It’s not… just stop, okay?”

He forced himself to read the words on the page as Margo laughed to herself, and his face didn’t feel all that feverish when Eliot returned to the table to announce someone would be by that afternoon to look at the ventilation system. 

Quentin gladly lost himself in translation as the morning progressed, only stopping to help Kit with questions or take quick notes. Todd came and went with little more than a good morning to everyone, and it wasn’t until Kady stepped into the dining room that his attention was completely torn from the book. 

Quentin had known Kady for over a year, and the look on her face when she entered the room was alarming, her eyes wide and nervous as they met his. He’d never seen Kady look anything but calm or irritated. “Hey, can you maybe…” She gestured for him to follow her, and Quentin immediately left the table, already worried. 

She led him into the hallway, leaning between two framed pieces of art as her eyes darted over his face. “Look, this sucks, so I’m just gonna say it.”

“Okay…”

“I’ve been going by a few times a day to check on your place, since it’s not that far.” She gave him an apologetic look. “Someone torched the place, either last night or early this morning. It’s… I know we got everything important but I don’t think there’s anything left. It was surrounded by cops when I got there, so I couldn’t get a good look, but…”

Quentin’s knees suddenly felt liquid and he backed towards the opposite wall, falling against it as he forced himself to take in a deep breath. He’d known they were in danger, that Kit was in danger, but now it was all very  _ real.  _ “It’s… But why would they do that? They had to know we weren’t there.”

Kady shrugged. “Maybe they’re pissed off. I don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s a message.”

“Y-Yeah. Fuck. I mean—thanks. I’ll—I should probably let the others know.”

“I can do it, Eliot will have twenty questions anyway.”

“Okay, just—don’t let Kit hear? I’ll tell her later, but…”

Kady nodded. “Of course.”

After that, it was a weird game of telephone, with Kady pulling Eliot aside and Eliot pulling Margo away ten minutes after that. When they both returned, Margo looked furious and Eliot’s expression was far too calm for Quentin’s liking. 

“I’m calling Marina as soon as the repairman leaves,” Margo informed them before looking towards Quentin. “Sorry about your place,” she said in a quieter tone. 

“Yeah, um. Thanks. I’m just—I don’t know. I probably wasn’t going back, but... fuck, what if—” Quentin cut himself off as his throat started to burn, tears gathering in his eyes as he started to imagine what might have happened if they  _ had  _ been home: the rusted fire escape, the windows that were nearly impossible to open. He could’ve used magic to escape, but if the McAllisters had set the fire, there would’ve been casters there to counteract him. What if they’d trapped them inside, or— 

“Okay, we’re going for a walk,” Eliot spoke, standing up and gently grabbing Quentin by the arm and causing him to draw in a ragged breath in surprise. 

“E-Eliot, I—”

“Up,” he interrupted. Sighing, Quentin stood from his chair and let Eliot lead him out of the room. 

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can smoke without freezing our tits off. In theory.”

“I just smoked,” he reminded Eliot as he followed him down the hall.

“Yes, but where we’re going, there’s also alcohol.”

“El, I have Kit.”

Eliot looked at him over his shoulder. “Actually, Margo has Kit.”

Deciding there was no use arguing, Quentin followed Eliot around the stairs and into the elevator, his brow furrowing when Eliot pressed the button for the top floor. “We’re going to your apartment?”

Eliot gave him an amused look. “Where else did you think the liquor would be?”

Quentin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, his curiosity silencing his common sense. 

The elevator shuddered to a stop soon after and Quentin stepped out into a large open room. Looking around, he found a small kitchen area to his left and a much larger living room directly in front of him, which included a small bar full of bottles. 

Also, it was fucking freezing.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding about your heat,” he said, following Eliot towards the bar, pausing near the sofa as the other man reached for something behind one of the armchairs. He wheeled out a fairly large space heater, flipping the switch on it before walking to the bar. 

“There’s blankets,” Eliot told him, gesturing towards the sofa where several blankets were folded across the back of it. 

Quentin gingerly took a seat on one of the cushions, brushing his fingers over the velvety fabric before pulling one of the blankets down to wrap around himself. He tried not to look too curious as he glanced around the room, taking in the dark stain on the floors and the jewel tones of the walls and furniture. It wasn’t anything like the first floor; while it all looked very nice, the only thing that really seemed new was the sofa and chairs, along with a giant television that was mounted on the wall. The coffee table, the bar, the lamps… Quentin was no expert, but they all seemed to be antiques of some kind. It was… comforting, somehow. Cozy. 

He was distracted by Eliot putting a drink in front of his face, and he took it with a mumbled thanks, sipping at the bourbon as Eliot took a seat across from him and lifted a pack of cigarettes from the end table next to him. He lit two before passing one over. “The heater will take a bit, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Quentin assured him. “This blanket is—good.” It was honestly more than good; it was  _ soft,  _ and he was very tempted to try sneaking it back downstairs with him.

Eliot smiled, tipping his glass back and emptying nearly half of it as he stared out the balcony doors. “Q, I really think you should consider staying here. You know, long-term.”

He laughed shakily. “I mean, I don’t really have a choice now, do I?” Seeing the small frown that crossed Eliot’s face, he felt terrible. “I don’t—it’s not like I don’t want to, that’s not what I meant. It’s been—good, being here. I just don’t want to wear out our welcome, is all.”

Eliot shook his head, not looking away from the balcony. “You couldn’t,” he said quietly, his eyes distant. Not knowing how to respond to that, Quentin took another drink. “I know it’s a lot to adjust to, and don’t get pissed at me, but I know you don’t exactly thrive on change.” Quentin cringed a bit at the comment, but found no reason to be mad about it. It was the truth.

Eliot’s gaze was intense as he looked his way again. “I just… I know I can’t convince you that we want to help.”

“El, I  _ know  _ that.”

“You don’t, though. I don’t know how things were for you. Before.” He laughed under his breath. “Honestly, I don’t want to because I’m a fucking coward. But inviting you to stay here—Margo and I don’t just hand that out to everyone. Overnights, sure. Sometimes a week or two, if shit goes down. I’m not bringing up anyone’s personal shit, but the people who  _ live  _ here needed a place and they’re here because we trust them. And yes, Todd gets on my last fucking nerve and half the time when he speaks I fantasize about setting his toes on fire a little, but if he needed me, I wouldn’t even ask why.”

Sighing, Eliot continued. “We’re helping with the fairy shit, I know. But you need to understand that our help doesn’t stop there, Q. You’re part of this now. You and Kit.” He sat back a little, his brow creasing. “And honestly, I don’t even know what’s up with Bambi, but trust that she’s on board.”

“What do you mean?”

“She usually avoids children like the plague,” he replied, shaking his glass to make the ice rattle inside of it. “But she likes Kit. And trust me, she likes you. That’s not common. I just want you to understand that you don’t have to go through this by yourself. You’re not alone. A-And I’m not saying you were before, I’m not trying to insult Julia or anything—”

“I know that,” Quentin interrupted, a bit floored by Eliot’s speech. He’d never been one to pour his heart out, and the fact he was doing so now was intimidating as hell, but Quentin wasn’t about to let him start questioning himself over it. “But I also know that you know how Julia can get—focused. A-And how I can be. I didn’t ask her for help when I needed it, and she was busy. She had Brakebills, and then she was teaching, and… She asked me if I was okay, but…”

“You’d never tell her you weren’t,” Eliot finished, a knowing look in his eyes. “I figured that. And I know you won’t want to ask now, but I’m still telling you. If you need a minute, or an hour, or a whole fucking day, you can have it here, Q. You’re a…” Eliot smiled, his eyes darting away for a moment. “You’re a good dad, you know.” Quentin ducked his head, overwhelmed with emotion. “But everyone needs space. And you have people here who can give it to you. I know we’re not model parental figures, but I think you can trust us long enough to take the time to get your shit together when you need it. You’re going through a lot right now.”

Quentin wasn’t sure how to respond. So much of untangling his past in therapy had been admitting that he’d depended on Eliot far too much. He couldn’t say that, though. Eliot hadn’t exactly brought up their relationship, so Quentin didn’t feel free to do it now. 

“I guess… I don’t know where the line is on stuff like that,” he admitted. 

Eliot shrugged, taking a draw from his cigarette. “You just ask,” he replied. “And unless you’re neglecting your kid, I don’t think any of us are going to give you shit about it. I also don’t see that happening. My point is, you act like you're committing a felony if you walk away from her for five minutes. If you’re going to get through this, you have to let us take some of the weight. I know Kit is—special. I know she can’t go to school, or daycare, and you’ve probably never asked anyone to take her when you needed time to yourself.”

“I mean, Julia does every couple of months. Kit likes spending weekends there.”

“Yeah, but Kit can’t be on that campus right now. And that’s still not enough time for you.” Eliot sat up, crushing out his cigarette and finishing off his drink before setting the glass aside. “I know I’m not a parent, but everyone needs a few minutes, Q. That’s why I dragged you off. And you need to learn you can have it when you need it.”

Quentin inhaled shakily, willing his lips not to tremble as he inhaled deeply from his cigarette. “It’s… thanks. I just—I’m not used to that, you know?” Eliot nodded, his eyes full of rare emotion. “It’s just been me and her. Even at my dad’s, really. He was sick for so long, a-and with her magic, I didn’t feel like I could ever leave her alone.”

“Well, you have Margo now, and you have me. Probably Kady too, but I’m definitely not speaking for her,” he said with a soft laugh and Quentin smiled. “And I don’t have a problem forcing a break on you until you realize I mean it.”

Quentin nodded. “Okay. That sounds—needed, probably.”

“I know,” he replied with a hint of teasing in his smile.

Feeling his face heating up again under Eliot’s attention, Quentin’s eyes darted around the room. “Your, um… it’s a really nice apartment. Sucks about the heat.”

“Well, I was thinking. If you’re staying here, you’re going to be needing more than just the two bedrooms. I could give you a tour and maybe start planning out how to give you more space? Margo’s apartment is pretty similar, except she opted out of a kitchen. I just like to cook for myself sometimes.”

“You already remodeled our floor, though.”

Eliot nodded slowly. “Right, but now you’re living on it. We wouldn’t have to do a lot of work if you’re against it, but you should at least have some sort of living room. A workspace, too.”

“I don’t know,” Quentin replied, squirming a little under his blanket. “That sounds… pricey.”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Nothing makes Margo happier than meeting her dad’s limit for the month, and we’ve barely touched it since we finished our last project.” 

Seeing the determination in Eliot’s eyes, Quentin sighed. “Fine. Show me around, I guess.”

**Margo**

“Margo?”

Looking up from her notes, Margo found Kit standing near the table, a piece of paper in her hand. “What’s up?” she asked.

Kit placed the paper in front of her and Margo looked over the somewhat shaky handwriting on the page. “Daddy’s taking forever. Can you tell me if I spelled these right?”

Smiling, Margo looked over the worksheet with its familiar lines and dashes meant to guide in handwriting practice. The top of the sheet read “My Favorites.” 

Looking over the words, Margo tried not to grin like an idiot. Printed very carefully were:  _ hamsters, Aunt Julia, Daddy, Minecraft,  _ and  _ green.  _

“They look great,” she said. “Not a single mistake.”

Kit smiled. “Okay. How do you spell your name?”

Margo gave the girl a sly look. “Why don’t you try guessing?”

Kit sighed but tapped her pencil thoughtfully against the table. “Ummmm. Well, it starts with an ‘M.’”

Margo’s smile faltered as Kit began writing the letter just under  _ ‘green’  _ on her paper. She’d thought Kit had asked out of curiosity, not… 

_ Well, fuck.  _

“Um—yeah. That’s right,” she managed to say. “And what’s after that?”

Kit bit her lip, tapping the pencil again before her eyes lit up. “‘Ar!’ That’s like bark and park, and I know how to spell those!” She carefully drew the next two letters. 

“And the last bit is easy, right?” Margo pressed. “What’s it sound like?”

Kit laughed. “Go!”

“You’ve got it, kid,” she laughed, watching as Kit completed her name on the page.

Kit hurriedly picked up the page. “That was the last thing I had to do today,” she announced, walking over to place her work in a folder. “Can you teach me magic now?”

“What?” Margo asked, confused.

“Daddy said I can learn magic and I said I wanted you to teach me.”

“Is that right?” Kit nodded, pulling out a chair to climb into. “Well, I’ll have to talk to him about it first. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. He wanted Eliot to teach me, but I want you to do it.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Kit wrinkled her nose. “I think Eliot would just do it to make Daddy happy and do everything he said.”

Margo had to literally cover her mouth to keep herself from laughing, but disguised it as a brief cough. “Yeah? You don’t think I’ll do that?”

Kit quickly shook her head. “Nope. I think you’ll teach me what I want. As long as I don’t hurt myself. And I think you’re really good at arguing with Daddy about stuff.”

“You’re very right about that.” 

Kit’s eyes strayed down to all the notes scattered across the table. “Daddy told me about the fairies today. Is that what you’re looking at?”

“Oh, did he? Yeah, I’m reading some stuff about them. Mostly about their magic. Did you two talk about that?”

Kit shook her head. “We mostly talked about how they took me away. And we talked about my mommy.”

Margo wasn’t sure how much she should say, but quickly decided Kit was going to find out sooner or later. “Well, the thing is—we think you might have just a little fairy magic.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s why mine is different?”

Margo nodded. “Could be. I’ve been going through all this crap to see what they can do.”

Looking over all the printouts on the table, Kit frowned. “That’s a lot.” 

“It is, but I’ve got a pretty good list started.”

“Can I see?”

Margo grinned, pulling Kit’s chair closer to her and sliding her notepad between them. “Only if you try reading it yourself.” 

“Okay!”

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, I may be taking the next week off from posting, due to holidays and some home repair issues that currently have me camping on someone else's sofa for the next week. Hope you're all well!

**Right Here**

**Eliot**

Eliot found it hard not to roll his eyes as he showed the tiny redhead who had just serviced their furnace the door that afternoon. The woman liked to talk—about the decor of the lobby, the age of the building, the gentrification of the neighborhood (she’d apparently grown up two blocks east), and finally, the state of the furnace, which had turned out to only need an adjustment and was now working perfectly. 

Once she was finally out the door, Eliot heaved a sigh and made his way down the hall and into the dining room, clapping his hands to call attention to himself. “Magic is back on,” he announced. “The muggle has left the building.”

There were a few laughs throughout the room, but as Eliot looked over the tables, he didn’t see Quentin or Margo. Glancing out the window into the courtyard he found the space empty, and with a bit of furrowed brow, he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket to dial Margo’s number from his recent contacts.

“We’re in Quentin’s room,” she answered in lieu of a hello. “Furnace lady gone?”

“Yes, thank god,” he groaned. “So, what are you two doing up there?” 

“Don’t you wish you knew,” she said suggestively. “We brought Kit up to see if there was anything else she could do, magic-wise.”

“How’s that going?”

“She made light, and Q says that’s new. Kind of looked like a firefly.”

Eliot smiled at Margo’s use of Quentin’s nickname; he wasn’t sure that had happened before. “Are you calling Marina to come tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ve already talked to her, she just said to let her know when we’re good to go.”

“Lovely. All I need is another redhead that won’t shut up to make my day complete.”

Margo snickered. “We’ll be down in a sec,” she told him, ending the call. 

Eliot did a round through the dining room as he waited, answering questions and setting up a time to test one of his newer hedges, a rail-thin teenager named Stevie, on her tenth level. Minutes later, Margo appeared in the doorway with Kit, sending the girl running towards Kady in a way that suggested it had been discussed beforehand between the two women and then gestured for him to join her instead of entering the room. Eliot left again, feeling mildly guilty for his frequent absences, even though he’d had worthy excuses for each of them. Still, he was going to have to dedicate more time to people besides Quentin and Margo, and soon. Drama started easily in such large groups, and even more easily in those magically-inclined, at least in his experience. 

Following Margo into the lobby, he was surprised to see Marina had already arrived with her trusty sidekick, Pete. As always, the woman was dressed in one of her strange working professional/bondage madame getups that Eliot didn’t fully understand. What was unusual was the almost sincere smile on the woman’s face as she spoke to Quentin. 

_ What the fuck?  _

Okay, Quentin had mentioned he knew Marina, but it hadn’t crossed Eliot’s mind to ask how well. Seeing Quentin laugh and duck his head at whatever Marina had said plucked at a discordant string in his mind, making him feel faintly nauseated. 

Marina’s gaze shifted his way and she smirked, smoothing out her form-fitting black dress. “There you are. I was just catching up with Quentin.”

“Charming,” Eliot replied coolly. 

Marina only looked pleased by his response. “Isn’t he? Pity I didn’t know he needed a coven. Especially when this one needs me to make sure their wards are up to snuff.”

Eliot nodded, accepting the not-so-subtle insult. “It’s true, I still haven’t found anyone skilled with them. But…” He made a show of tapping his lip thoughtfully. “Wasn’t Amelia just over there last week? I also seem to remember hearing Nancy saying something about taking a job for one of yours, too.” Marina glared tiredly at him and Eliot smiled. “And now, you can always call if you need something put back together.”

Marina’s eyes narrowed as she realized she’d lost the round, her lips pursing before she turned her attention to Margo. “You got the cash?”

“You know, it’s bullshit you’re charging us full cost when we’re helping you with this,” Margo told her, reaching into the pocket of her slacks to hand over a small stack of bills. Marina took the money with a grin, handing it off to Pete for safe-keeping. 

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers, can they? Now, buckle up and pay attention.”

**Quentin**

Quentin was still reeling over the amount of money Margo had just handed to Marina (Had that all been twenties? It had to have been over a thousand dollars!) and found it hard to pay attention to the quick instructions Marina was going over with Eliot and Margo. Her hands were swift and precise, and it was obvious she assumed the others knew the tuts she was going through already—she was only explaining the sequence and timing to make sure they understood it before she began. 

Quentin was trying to follow it as well, more out of curiosity than anything, but his phone chose that moment to start vibrating in his pocket. Seeing Julia’s name on the screen, he stepped away from the others to answer it. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey. I pulled some books for you on niffins. I was going to have Penny bring them by, but I really think we need to talk. In person.”

“Uh, okay. Like right now?”

“Are you busy? It’s about the McAllisters, Q.”

“Shit. Um—hold on, okay?” Muting his phone, Quentin walked over to tap Eliot’s arm. When he gave a questioning glance over his shoulder, Quentin grimaced. “Sorry, but—if you start this, no one’s coming or going for awhile, right?”

“Not from this door, at least. What’s wrong?”

“Julia’s on the phone. She needs to talk to me, and she’s wanting to come by. I-I didn’t know if that was even okay, but if it is, should I tell her to wait?”

Eliot’s eyes darted to Marina and then to the doors. “Q, you’re allowed to have company. You live here. But isn’t it going to take her a while, anyway?”

“No, her husband’s a Traveler. She can be here as soon as I let her know.”

“Oh. Well. I guess go ahead and tell her it’s fine? I’m not sure how long this will take, so it’s probably better to get her here before we start.”

“Thanks,” Quentin said with a short nod, leaving Eliot to continue his call. “Jules? You can come now. Do you know where it is?”

“Sure do. I’m going to hang up so my phone doesn’t fritz out.”

“Yeah.” Quentin ended the call, walking towards the doors. He knew Penny wouldn’t pop them right out onto the street, but it didn’t take long before he spotted the two of them approaching the entrance, Julia looking almost warily across the windows she couldn’t see through. He watched her and Penny exchange a few words, trying to gauge the mood she was in. He didn’t plan for her reunion with Eliot to go well, but he’d take any advantage he could get. 

Stepping outside, Quentin waved a bit awkwardly. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Penny greeted him. “Can we get inside? It’s fucking freezing.”

“Maybe try wearing sleeves sometimes?” Quentin suggested, but held the door open for Penny to pass through. Julia followed after, shooting Quentin a nervous smile, barely more than a twitch of her lips. 

Quentin almost ran into Julia’s back as he let the door fall shut and realized she’d stopped to stare at Eliot and Margo conferring with Marina in the center of the lobby. “What the hell?” she whispered.

“What?”

Julia turned on her heel, pinning Quentin with a fierce look. “What the fuck is Marina Andrieski doing here?”

“Excuse me?” 

Quentin and Julia both turned to see Marina looking their way, her head tilted in question. 

“I asked what you were doing here,” Julia replied.

“And who are you?” Marina asked, crossing her arms. Quentin watched Pete cross the room casually, but it was clear he was preparing for a confrontation based on Julia’s tone.

“Quentin’s best friend.”

Marina made a face. “Strange that you’ve heard of me and I’ve never heard of you.”

Julia rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “I teach at Brakebills. That’s why I’ve heard of you. Quentin’s actually never mentioned you at all.”

Marina didn’t react to the insult, her smile widening at the mention of the university. “I see my legacy still stands, then. Good to know.” 

Julia sneered at the comment before her eyes flicked to Quentin. “Nice friends you’ve made.” 

At that, it was Eliot’s turn to roll his eyes. “Look, there are no ‘friends’ here. We called Marina for a job. A job to help protect Quentin and Kit, by the way.”

“Do you know the first thing about her?” Julia demanded.

And the eye-rolling passed to Margo. “That’s not something you ask in our circles, so the answer is no.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because a lot of us have fucked up,” Eliot answered before Margo could reply, his voice restrained but only barely. “We didn’t get invitations to magic school, so there are plenty of stories of houses burning down, or people getting hurt—or killed. There was no safety net for us. A lot of us have done shit we’re not proud of.”

“Like prostituting themselves around to get their stars,” Marina added, and Quentin frowned deeply when she shot a teasing smile at Eliot, whose only reaction to the comment was a slight tightening of his mouth. 

“Yeah, you wish,” Margo snapped, turning away from Julia. “Let’s get this over with. I already feel like I need to shower.”

“Q, you can use my office if you don’t want to go all the way upstairs,” Eliot told him. “Second door past the elevator.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Tugging on Julia’s shoulder, he was relieved when she actually turned to follow him past the stairs, Penny behind her. 

Quentin hadn’t known Eliot had an office, and still didn’t really understand why as he opened the door and ran his hand over the wall to find the light switch. The room was quite small and obviously rarely used. Still, the furniture was of high quality, if a bit worn at the edges, and there was even a filing cabinet in the corner. 

The only chairs were on each side of the desk, but Quentin didn’t feel bad taking one for himself and leaving the other for Julia. Penny wasn’t the type to sit in most situations. 

Julia unshouldered the bag she’d been carrying, withdrawing four books from inside, which she stacked on the desk in front of him. “That’s what I found that could be helpful,” she told him. 

“Thanks. I’ll try to get them back to you as soon as I can, I just… I’d feel better, knowing.”

“Q, if Alice hasn’t come back in all this time, I doubt she’s going to. I get Kit maybe brought up some stuff, but—”

“Holy shit,” Quentin nearly shouted, bringing his hand to his forehead. Julia jumped a bit in her seat, her eyebrows rising. “I, uh. Sorry. I just—I didn’t tell you. Fuck. There’s just been so much going on, I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Penny asked. 

“Alice. There was—” Cutting himself off, Quentin took a deep breath, willing his trainwreck of a brain to slow down. “When Margo went to the Library, she saw Kit’s book, and there was a letter from Alice inside of it. She brought it to me.”

“Are you serious?” Julia asked, eyes wide. “What did it say?”

“That, um. She read Kit’s book. Before… before everything. She didn’t—she wasn’t trying to get rid of Kit, Jules. At least, not this time? I don’t know how it works. She read about the spell in Kit’s book before she was even born. The fairy deal, too. She did it all on purpose.”

Julia stared at him, stunned, and Quentin saw Penny run his hands down his face behind her, looking overwhelmed as they fell to his sides. 

“I can’t… she knew that whole time? What she was going to do?” 

“I—guess so. Yeah.”

Julia let out a heavy breath, slumping back into her chair. “Holy shit. No wonder she pulled away from all of us. God, I thought it was just…”

“Me wanting to keep Kit. I know.” Quentin couldn’t help but remember the guilt he’d felt all through Alice’s pregnancy. She’d agreed to go through it for him but she’d distanced herself after that, causing a strain between all four of them. Penny and Julia had both blamed him, though Julia had been quieter about it than Penny, who’d outright accused Quentin of pressuring Alice into the decision. He hadn’t, though. He’d honestly been thrown when she’d decided against an abortion but had been too relieved to question her on it. 

“Did she say  _ why?”  _ Penny asked. 

Quentin shook his head. “No. She also asked me not to read Kit’s book, so we’re not going to find any answers there. You, uh, said something about the McAllisters, though?”

Julia blinked, a soft laugh escaping her. “Shit, you made me forget. Um, yeah. There was a staff meeting after classes today. Irene McAllister was there to announce her father was just released from the hospital due to a  _ hedge witch attack.”  _

Quentin laughed; he couldn’t help it. “I’m not really surprised he couldn’t admit to getting beat down by a five-year-old.”

“Yeah, well, she said her family would be ‘taking care of it,’ but insinuated because they’re on the board that other members could be in danger.”

“Don’t skip the part where she looked directly at you,” Penny chipped in.

Quentin pulled an annoyed face. “So, someone’s informed her we’re friends.”

“Or someone told her we were when you were at school,” Julia replied. “I didn’t react at all, so I don’t think I gave her anything to go on. But I thought you should know they’re willing to involve the school in this. So I think they’re going to be a serious threat.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he told her, an edge to his voice. “They torched the store last night.”

Julia’s mouth fell open.  _ “What? How?  _ Jesus, Q, why didn’t you call me?”

Quentin’s hands flailed helplessly. “Jules, there’s—a  _ lot  _ happening. Trying to figure out what’s more panic-inducing is kind of difficult right now, okay? We weren’t there and we got most of our stuff out, so it’s fine. I’ll have to, like, deal with insurance and shit, but that’s really the only issue.” 

Julia nodded, accepting his lack of apology. “Okay, well. I have an idea. I think. And considering they set fire to your  _ house,  _ I think it’s something we need to do.”

**Eliot**

Eliot would never admit it, not even with a knife to his throat, but Marina’s wards were a thing of beauty. He and Margo were really only pooling their magic with hers as she plucked here and there, weaving their present spells together in ways he hadn’t considered, and also adding some of her homebrewed creations to the mix. If anyone managed to unravel them, no one in the hotel would stand a chance against them. 

Marina was tying off the last bit when Eliot heard voices coming from his office. He took a grounding breath and centered himself, knowing Marina would likely charge double if she had to start over again. They couldn’t afford any distractions. 

It became clear very quickly an argument was escalating down the hall, however, and he heard Marina growl next to him. “Keep it together,” she ordered, sounding both cheerful and threatening as her hands slowly moved through the last of the tuts needed to bind everything together. 

Moments later there was a subtle flash of color as the wards settled into place and Marina threw Eliot an annoyed look. “Deal with that before I start on the back door.” 

“We’ll get Amelia to help,” Margo told her. “Whatever’s going on in there is gonna take longer than we have.”

Eliot was left alone as the women made their way down the hall. While he didn’t love the idea of putting himself between Quentin and Julia, he definitely wasn’t about to let her come into his home and start walking all over people, even if one of them was her best friend. 

He considered knocking but threw the idea out—it was his fucking office. Turning the knob, Eliot entered the room to find Quentin red in the face and breathing harshly as he glared furiously at Julia, who was looking at him as if he were a petulant child. “Care to explain what the fuck is going on in here?” he asked casually.

Julia opened her mouth, clearly ready to tell him something along the lines of ‘butt the fuck out,’ but Quentin beat her to it. “Julia wants me to go to Fillory,” he muttered. Anyone who didn’t know Quentin would think he was pissed off, and they wouldn’t exactly be wrong, but Eliot saw how his shoulders were curled defensively and how he was gripping the sleeves of his shirt over his hands. 

Quentin was terrified and lashing out to hide it. 

“Fillory?” Eliot echoed. “What’s in Fillory?”

“He means the fairy realm,” Julia spoke, keeping her eyes on Quentin. “With everything going on, I think the logical choice here is to see if the queen will answer some questions for us.”

“Oh, excuse me for not being  _ logical,”  _ Quentin bit out, his eyes trained on the floor. “The last time I was there, my daughter was fucking held hostage.”

Julia sighed, her lips thinning into a grim line. “Don’t act like you were the only one that was terrified. All I’m saying is she’s not going to  _ do  _ anything, Q. The deal is still in place. We won’t be taking Kit, so how is asking just a few questions going to hurt anything?”

“Why the fuck would she answer them?” Quentin demanded. “She didn’t give us shit to go on when the deal was made!”

“We didn’t ask!” Julia cried. 

Eliot held his hands up for quiet. “How about we all just take a second?” he suggested.

Julia glared sharply at him. “How about you mind your own business?” 

Eliot chuckled darkly. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, seeing as this is my office, which is in my hotel, where I run  _ my  _ coven. And I can kick you out as easily as I let you in.” He didn’t look at Quentin to gauge his reaction—he’d never upset him intentionally, but it was obvious Julia expected Eliot to take her abuse like he had years ago, too insecure in his relationship with Quentin to stand up for himself. At the time, the risk hadn’t seemed worth it, and trying to compete with someone who had been in Quentin’s life since pre-school had seemed impossible.

He’d learned a lot since then, and though it would sting if Quentin defended Julia, Eliot really didn’t think he would. Even if he did, Eliot wasn’t about to let one person treat him like shit just to keep another from walking out the door, no matter how badly it would hurt. 

For a moment, the fury in Julia’s eyes had Eliot fully expecting her to leave the room, but he kept his expression calm and mildly expectant, waiting for her answer. 

It was Quentin who cut through the tension between them. “Jules, he’s right,” he said, his voice much softer, and Eliot hated the ragged exhaustion he heard in his voice. “I don’t… you don’t have to like that I’m here, and I’m not expecting everyone to be friends, like,  _ ever.  _ Still, you could at least be civil? Eliot and Margo have helped a lot in just the few days that I’ve been here. On top of that, they’re giving me a place to live, and you’re still hung up on whatever issues you had with Eliot from fucking undergrad.” Quentin looked helpless and frustrated as he combed his hair out of his face with his fingers. “And honestly? You never really  _ had  _ a reason, not one that you’d talk about, and it’s bullshit I never called you out for that beyond just asking you to stop. It’s just—been too long to matter anymore. So get over it, okay?”

Julia looked stunned by Quentin’s speech and Eliot was finding it difficult to keep his own expression impassive as he remembered all those quiet entreaties Quentin had made to Julia during their relationship, in those moments when it had become clear that her little insults and snarky comments were wearing Eliot’s patience thin. Just a ‘cut it out’ here and a ‘could you chill?’ there, and Eliot—who at the time had never had anyone stand up for him in his life—had treasured each one, not realizing at the time they hadn’t been nearly enough. 

This… it was much more, and Eliot wasn’t sure what to do with it, not now. Did it matter now? 

Feeling a suspicious stinging in his eyes, Eliot realized somewhere within him, it did matter; it mattered a  _ lot,  _ and like when anything in his life tempted to elicit an emotional response, he tucked it away for later examination. Hell would literally freeze over before he got weepy in front of Julia fucking Wicker. 

Julia’s anger slowly faded into something that looked much more resigned and she sighed. “Fine. But just so you know, I do have my reasons.”

He shrugged. “That’s fine. Like I said, it’s been too long to matter now, whatever they were. People change, Jules. And even if they don’t, this is Eliot’s place. So you can chill out, or we can deal with this over the phone instead.”

Julia scoffed, but as she looked away Eliot thought he caught a flash of hurt in her eyes. It made him want to squirm as much as he found he enjoyed it. “Yeah, fine. We’ll play nice.”

“Wonderful” Eliot managed to say, his voice steadier than he’d expected. “In order to do that, I believe I’m going to have to smoke first, though.”

Quentin sighed dramatically, the tension draining out of his shoulders as he looked pleadingly at Eliot. “God, please?”

Julia’s expression turned annoyed but Eliot thought he detected a hint of amusement in the tilt of her mouth “Thought you were quitting?”

“I mean, yeah. Later. Definitely. Um, Kit’s down the hall if you wanna say hi. We’ll be back.” Quentin surprised Eliot by taking him by the wrist and all but pulling him from the room, the possessive grip of his hand causing Eliot’s breath to catch just before it fell away. “Sorry, I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head as they started down the hallway.

“It’s fine,” Eliot replied, not quite sure what Quentin was apologizing for. 

“Daddy!” Kit shouted as soon as they entered the dining room, jumping up from her seat on the sofa between Kady and Margo. Looking around, it appeared Marina had finished the job and left. Eliot couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed. 

“Hey,” Quentin greeted his daughter, crouching down to her level. 

“Margo said Aunt Jules and Uncle Pen are here!”

“Yeah, I told her to come say hi to you so they should be here any second. I’m gonna step outside though, okay?”

“Okay! Can I show her the light thing?”

Quentin laughed, tugging at the end of her ponytail. “Sure, she’ll like that.” 

Eliot held the door open and Quentin followed him out into the frigid courtyard. Due to the temperature they were the only two there and Eliot didn’t dare take a seat on the metal furniture, just lighting two cigarettes and passing one to Quentin as they stood under the balcony instead. 

“So, Fillory huh?” he asked, much too casually, but it worked to get a wry smile out of Quentin. 

“I can’t… I know I shouldn’t have blown up on her, but I just hate when she acts so clinical about shit. Like, I understand her logic; I’m not an idiot. But it’s like  _ she  _ can’t understand why I wouldn’t just go along with it, and that’s bullshit, right? I don’t think I’m in the wrong for freaking out a little.”

“Of course you’re not. The bitch stole your baby, Q. I completely understand not wanting to initiate a conversation.” 

_ “Thank you,”  _ he sighed, slouching against one of the support posts. “I’m not like her. I can’t just take what I’m feeling and set it aside like that, a-and she  _ knows  _ that.”

“If she’s so dead set on going, why can’t she just have her brooding husband take her?” Eliot asked, tapping ashes onto the patio. 

Quentin shook his head. “I’m not sure that would work.  _ I  _ made the deal. Jules and Penny were there, but I don’t think they’re part of it.”

“So, if she’s going to talk to anyone, it would have to be you,” he surmised. 

Quentin nodded jerkily before taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “Yeah, I’m guessing.”

“If it’s a no… I’ll have your back. Margo too.”

Quentin’s laugh was barely audible, just a slight hitch of his shoulders. “I know that, El. It’s just hard to wrap my brain around it, you know? But I know she’s right. I just  _ really  _ don’t want her to be.” 

“Okay, so say she’s right. Say we go.”

“We?” Quentin echoed, and Eliot didn’t miss the flare of naked hope in his eyes before Quentin tried to hide it, looking away. 

“Oh, if you’re going to face off with Tinkerbitch, I’m going,” he said, unable to keep the fond smile off his face as Quentin grinned at the dumb joke. “And I seriously doubt you’re going to keep Margo away from any place related to Fillory; I’d like to see someone try.”

It was hard to tell in the poor light filtering out from the dining room windows, but Eliot heard a suspicious sniffle as Quentin continued smoking, his face too shadowed in profile as he stared out towards the alley. Eliot leaned against the other post, afraid of what he might do if he heard anything more telling. He knew he was okay at giving advice and he could be an excellent listener, but above all, Eliot wanted to  _ fix  _ things for the people he cared about. He’d given Quentin a place to stay and all the resources at his disposal to solve the issue with the fairies, but when it came to comfort, he was at a loss. He couldn’t drag Quentin into his arms or kiss his forehead. He couldn’t comb through his hair or massage the ever-present knots from his shoulders. 

Eliot was wracking his brain for anything he could say to stop Quentin’s tears, something that wouldn’t require touching him in some way when the back door opened, briefly spilling light outside to outline a slender, petite silhouette he’d know anywhere. “You two are seriously fucked in the head,” Margo groused, fingers moving in a familiar tut to cast a warming spell on herself as she joined them, plucking the half-smoked cigarette from Eliot’s fingers.

“Not all of us want beach weather year-round,” Eliot teased as the tip of the cigarette flared in the darkness. 

“Says the idiot who practically has to be dragged out of Ibiza kicking and screaming,” she retorted. 

“Ibiza is different,” he said, snatching his cigarette back from her. 

“Wait, you guys have been?” Quentin asked, and Eliot saw him hurriedly wiping at his eyes. 

“Four times,” Margo answered. “You haven’t?”

Quentin frowned. “I’ve never been invited. I wasn’t really mad about it, though? I’m not sure it’d be my thing.”

Margo helped herself to his cigarette this time. “Q, trust me. It’s everyone’s thing. Even if you’re not down with the orgies, the food itself is worth going. And the art... I don’t think I could even explain it to you.”

“The drugs were nice too,” Eliot mused fondly, straightening his expression when Margo shot him a look of warning. “What, I’m not even allowed the memories now?” 

“Memories are all you get,” she reminded him and he nodded dutifully. 

“Is, um, Julia okay in there?” Quentin asked. “I didn’t see Marina, but…”

“She’s long gone,” Margo assured him. “The wards for the back were halfway done during the first round, so it only took a few minutes to complete them. I told Kady to keep an eye on them, just in case, but they’re just sitting with Kit.”

“I didn’t know Julia had any idea who Marina was,” Quentin said, his tone apologetic. “I would’ve told her to wait if I had.”

Eliot shrugged. “It’s fine. There are—rumors about Marina’s time at Brakebills.”

“Someone supposedly died,” Margo added, handing Quentin’s cigarette back to him. “I’m usually pretty good at getting gossip, but the school must have locked that shit down immediately. I know Marina’s spells were pulled from her, though, and I’ve heard that shit is unpleasant. Still, there are rumors about anyone, if you dig deep enough.”

“Yeah, what was her deal with you?” Quentin asked Eliot, stepping out from under the balcony to put his cigarette out in the ashtray.

“Oh, the prostitute comment?” Eliot asked. “It’s equal parts stupid and true.”

Margo snorted. “It’s  _ not  _ true,” she informed Quentin.

Eliot rolled his eyes. “It’s… borderline questionable, then,” he corrected himself, deciding to light another smoke if he was going to have to explain himself. “I was in Chicago for four years before I came to New York. The hedge scene there is—different. There aren’t really separate covens. I mean, there  _ are,  _ but no one really belongs to just one. It was more cooperative, I guess? People bounced around and you had to learn really quickly who was in charge and who to watch out for.

“As far as earning stars, it was… more difficult. Here, you’re in a coven and you get to know the people you’re around. You know who’s in charge and that doesn’t change unless someone steps down or there’s a challenge issued. Or an all out war, like I arrived in the middle of.

“In Chicago, your stars give you authority. And the people in charge didn’t really appreciate competition. Once you could prove you’d earned a star, they wouldn’t just give it to you. You usually had to do something for that particular coven.”

“Like what?” Quentin asked. 

Eliot shrugged. “Lots of things. I just happened to be sixteen and not exactly loving life at the time. I was willing to do a lot of stupid shit and word got around about it. It’s an exaggeration to say all the jobs I took were sexual in nature, but I won’t deny they happened.”

Quentin’s brow was drawn down in confusion. “I-I don’t get what that has to do with a coven, though?”

Margo stole Eliot’s cigarette. Again. “He’s saying that his asshole coven leaders sent him out to seduce magicians. He’d work them up, get them to take him home, and steal their shit once their guard was down.”

“O-Oh. That’s… wait. El, you were  _ sixteen?” _

He nodded, stealing his cigarette back. “At first. So, I  _ did  _ earn a lot of my stars that way, technically.”

Margo growled. “Yeah, but you still knew your shit.” He nodded in agreement; even with the shady tactics employed back in Chicago, no one would have handed out a star without proof it had been earned. Really, it had just been an additional hoop to jump through. “And Marina likes to bring it up like it’s some big secret she’s got on Eliot, but she only knows because one of hers met Eliot back in Chicago. She’s also dying to know how many stars he actually has.”

“She doesn’t know?” Quentin asked. 

Margo smiled. “No one does. Except for me, of course. Eliot thinks if Marina found out, she’d invent a reason to break our little treaty.”

“And I’m right,” he added, offering the rest of his cigarette to Quentin, since Margo had enjoyed a fair share of his too. 

Quentin took it with a short nod of thanks. “I didn’t know that would be an issue. Do people get shitty over that, like, in a coven?”

“Not at all,” Eliot told him. “I mean, people get competitive, sure, but it’s usually all in good fun.”

Margo wet her lips, smirking. “It’s because Marina thinks she’s Queen Shit at level fifty. And fifty isn’t anything to turn up your nose at, but Eliot’s been in this game longer than most.”

“So, I’m guessing you’ve got—more,” Quentin said delicately, obviously trying not to overstep.

“Something like that,” Eliot admitted with a soft smile. “We should probably head inside, though. If we’re actually going to another planet, or world, or whatever, I’d like to get the details ironed out.” 

“Wait, who’s going where?” Margo asked, pulling Quentin along with her as she followed Eliot back inside. 

  
  
  
  
  


  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, the chapter is only two days late instead of a week. Hope you enjoy! As always, thanks to my beta AutumnEnnui for her fabulous work, especially with this chapter.

**Vixen**

**Quentin**

Quentin was grateful for Margo’s grounding touch on his arm as they entered the dining room to join Julia and Penny at the corner table. Seeing Kit talking, her tone decidedly excited from her seat on Penny’s lap, he felt a welcome certainty rising from within him—he had to do this. He had to return to the fairy realm. All the other worries that had been steadily piling up in the past few days: living with Eliot while trying to pretend he didn’t still  _ want  _ Eliot, dealing with the curious looks of the other hedges (none of whom had really spoken to him yet, but wasn’t that, like, partially his fault for not introducing himself?), mentally preparing himself to have to make phone calls regarding the fire at his store (which would probably require filing a police report or something, and he should call someone about that, right?), discovering Alice hadn’t tried to take Kit away from him, actually  _ living  _ with Eliot, possibly for a long time, Alice possibly visiting Kit in her dreams, dealing with Julia’s grudge against Eliot, wondering (between Margo and Eliot) who would verbally take Julia’s head off first, and Jesus fucking Christ had Eliot really been doing sex work as a minor? … simply faded into the background of his ever-anxious brain. 

It all mattered to him, but keeping Kit with him mattered more. If there was the smallest chance the queen would give them answers, or even just a  _ clue,  _ he had to go. 

That didn’t mean Quentin was quite ready to make peace with his best friend, though, not after she’d pretended to have any idea what he’d gone through during Kit’s disappearance. Julia loved Kit, but she wasn’t her fucking parent. Kit wasn’t  _ part of her,  _ like she was to him. He gestured for Eliot to take the remaining chair at the table after Margo seated herself, choosing to stand between the two of them instead. “When are we going?” he asked.

Julia blinked in surprise, but quickly composed herself. “Is there any reason we can’t go now?” 

“Um, hello? No one’s told me shit about this trip you all are planning,” Margo reminded them.

“The fairy realm,” Eliot explained to her. “Julia thinks speaking to the queen directly may speed things along.”

Margo pulled an impressed face, shrugging a bit. “It could, considering they can’t lie.”

Quentin shot her an incredulous look. “Wait, what?”

She nodded, looking up at him. “I read it yesterday. I’m not sure how helpful it will be, though, which is why I didn’t mention it. Apparently, they can be  _ very  _ creative at skirting around the truth. You’re going to have to ask the right questions.”

Quentin scoffed. “Why couldn’t Kit have gotten that one?” he complained, and Margo smirked in response. 

“We’re really going?” Kit asked with an excited smile, swinging her feet dangerously close to Penny’s shins. 

Quentin held back a wince. “Kit… it isn’t safe there, okay? You can’t go with us. We won’t be gone long, though.” God, he hoped not. 

“That’s not fair!” she cried, her brow drawing down angrily. “I wanna go with you!”

“I know, and one day I’ll take you to Fillory, I promise. Just not the fairy realm, okay?”

Quentin’s face fell as tears filled Kit’s eyes, quickly spilling over as she began to cry. Penny tried to comfort her, but as soon as he touched her arm she jerked away from him, slipping off his lap to run from the room. Several people around them watched her flee before shooting questioning glances towards their table. 

“Fuck,” Quentin sighed, leaving the table to follow his daughter. He heard Margo’s heels on the floor not far behind him.

Kit didn’t go far. He found her facedown on the lobby’s sofa, weeping pitifully. 

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling on the floor next to her, but Kit turned away from him to hide her face. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not!” she gulped. “You don’t let me do anything! I can do magic and I can help! Y-You said I’m like them and you won’t even let me  _ see!”  _

Quentin looked helplessly towards Margo as she seated herself next to Kit, running her fingers through the little girl’s ponytail. “You know, dads seem like the worst sometimes,” she spoke, careful and sympathetic. “But this queen lady’s a real bitch and he’s just watching out for you, right?”

Kit pulled herself up on her knees, her face already stained with tears as she leveled him with a dour look.  _ “I  _ got away from that man all by myself. You didn’t, so why do  _ you  _ get to go and I have to stay here?”

Margo made a choked sound and tilted her head, pinning Quentin with an amused look as she waited for him to answer.

“You’re right, you did get away,” he said as calmly as he could manage, not sure if he was quite as amused as Margo—having his five-year-old point out she’d protected herself when he couldn’t wasn’t exactly the best feeling. “You were really brave, but we still don’t know everything fairies can do, and the only thing I know about the queen is that she… she wants you there. I can’t risk that, Kit. We need to ask her some questions and if I’m worried about you, I’m not going to be able to think straight, you know?”

“Why does she want me there?”

Quentin breathed through his guilt. He always wanted to be as honest with Kit as he could manage, but he wasn’t about to tell her what would happen if he failed. “I, um. I’m not totally sure. That’s part of why we need to talk to her.”

“If it’s about me, it’s not fair I can’t go,” she grumbled. “You’re all gonna leave me here and then you’re probably all gonna have a dumb grown-up talk about it and barely tell me anything.”

“I promise I’ll tell you as much as I can,” he told her, cautiously reaching for her hand. She pulled it away to cross her arms over her stomach, her lip jutting out in a pout. 

“Would it help if I stayed with you?” Margo asked. “I want to go to Fillory as much as you do, but I honestly don’t care much for meeting this queen. And it’s not even the  _ real  _ Fillory.”

Kit gave her an assessing look. “You’ll stay?”

Margo nodded. “Why not? It’s just gonna be a bunch of boring old questions. I’m sure we can come up with better stuff to do here.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Like eating so much chocolate your dad can’t get you to bed before midnight.” Quentin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue; he could see Kit reluctantly warming to the idea, her lips pressed together thoughtfully in that way that reminded him so much of Alice it hurt. Everyone in his life was constantly expressing how much Kit favored him, and even he could see it. When it came to her mannerisms, though, nearly everything she did reminded him of Alice—the sharp, calculating way she studied her surroundings or the way her left eyebrow always crept upwards when she was getting angry or annoyed. When she was anxious, she’d clasp her hands together over her stomach, and sometimes when she was deep in thought, her lips would turn down as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. 

Kit heaved a giant sigh. “I guess that would be okay.” She pinned her father with a hard stare. “But you have to tell me stuff when you get back.”

Quentin offered his pinky to her. “Promise.”

Kit gave him a doubtful look before she hooked her tiny pinky finger around his as far as she could manage, and all her anger was forgotten as she leapt from the couch. “‘C’mon, Margo!” she cried, running towards the elevator. 

Quentin laughed as Margo stood from the sofa to follow. “You owe me,” she told him before her gaze turned slightly worried. “I don’t have to tell you to be careful, do I? Because if you and El leave me to raise the munchkin, I will find a way to make you regret it.”

“It should be fine,” he replied, pushing his hair back from his face. “Jules is right—the deal is still in effect. She can’t really do anything to me.”

“And you’ll make sure Eliot—”

“Of course I will,” he interrupted.

She grinned, eye sparkling. “Because you  _ like  _ him.”

Quentin rolled his eyes, giving her an incredulous look. “God, are you twelve?”

Her grin only widened. “You  _ do,  _ though.”

He sighed, shaking his head in refusal—he wasn’t going to answer, no matter how much she teased him. The fact Margo had picked up on his attraction towards Eliot was bad enough; he wasn’t about to give her more ammunition by actually saying something. Thankfully, Kit shouted for Margo to hurry up and she waved her fingers at him teasingly before disappearing around the stairs. 

**Eliot**

  
  


Eliot knew as a parent Quentin was duty-bound to follow his child when she fled the room in tears. The fact Margo had followed, however, and left him alone with a scowling Julia and a silent Penny was  _ not  _ appreciated, and he planned to have several words with her about it when she returned. It didn’t matter the room was basically full of his hedges; leaving the table would suggest he was uncomfortable, and he wasn’t about to show any sign of weakness in front of Julia. 

Eliot’s brow quirked upward when Quentin returned to the room alone, and he shot Eliot an apologetic look as rejoined them at the table. “So, Margo’s staying here,” he said with a grimace, his hands gripping the back of the vacant chair. “I mean, if you really want her to go, I can figure something out, but it got Kit to calm down, so…”

Eliot nodded slowly. While he’d rather have Margo in his corner in the presence of Julia, Quentin had already made it quite clear earlier that he was done allowing his best friend to shit all over Eliot. “Well, okay. I didn’t really see her turning a trip like this down, but…” He shrugged. 

“So we’re ready?” Julia asked. 

“I guess, yeah,” Quentin replied.

Eliot had only experienced Traveling once in his life, while pretending to date a Traveler in Chicago for several weeks in order to lift a black opal from his collection that another magician had been willing to pay a ridiculous amount for. He’d considered dating the man sincerely when he’d been magically whisked away to Prague, Italy, and Tokyo all in the same month.

He’d enjoyed the locals but had loathed the sensation, and after joining hands with Quentin and Penny, Eliot found his opinion hadn’t changed. His stomach dipped dangerously as the dining room of the hotel disappeared around him and he nearly gagged as his body settled into existence in another world. 

Glancing around, Eliot didn’t immediately see anything out of the ordinary, though the sky was a brilliant pink near the horizon. Breathing in, the air was cold but not nearly as frigid as New York, and instead of the smell of exhaust with hints of garbage he barely noticed anymore, he could only smell damp earth and the fresh scent of grass. Still, there was the fact he was in another  _ world,  _ when once upon a time he hadn’t been entirely sure he’d ever step foot outside of Indiana. 

“Castle’s that way,” Penny announced, and Eliot turned to follow his pointing finger, his lips parting in quiet shock. It was a castle, most definitely, but completely covered in plant life. Was it  _ made  _ from plants? It was almost difficult to distinguish it from the surrounding forest, and the blanket of mist woven through it all was like something out of a fairy tale. 

Which—you know. Irony and all. 

Glancing at Quentin, he found him also staring at the castle, his mouth pressed into a tense line. Seeing Julia and Penny already walking ahead, Eliot couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to place his hand on Quentin’s shoulder. He startled a bit, eyes darting towards Eliot before a small, nervous smile twitched at his lips. 

“You okay?”

Quentin huffed out a laugh. “Not really?” Noticing they were being left behind, he sighed. “Just being here is… it’s like—exactly the same? And it’s…”

Eliot squeezed his shoulder before dropping his hand. “I get it.” He began to follow after Julia and Penny, and Quentin joined him, wetting his lips anxiously. “Sense memory is a bitch. When I was still in Chicago, I had to take a job that put me about an hour outside of Whiteland. Just seeing all those fields again… and the  _ smell.”  _ He shuddered. “I think I mistook three different men for my dad during that trip. I was a wreck.”

“I’m just glad Kit’s not here.” His brow furrowed. “A-And I don’t know if anyone’s gonna be able to see the queen but me? If I have to do all the talking, I’m probably gonna fuck it up.”

“You’ll be fine,” Eliot promised. “And if she doesn’t want to show herself, she can deal if you need to take a moment to discuss with us.”

“Uh, I appreciate the encouragement, but I’m pretty sure this whole thing is gonna be on her terms.”

Eliot shrugged. “Even if this turns out to be completely pointless, we’ll figure it out. One way or another.”

Quentin didn’t look all that convinced, but managed a small smile. “I hope so.”

The castle turned out to be farther than it had looked at first glance and by the time the four of them reached the ivy-bound doors, Eliot was trying to deny the fact he was slightly winded. He barely drank these days; there was no possibility he was going to stop smoking on top of that.

“Do we knock?” he asked, since no one was moving towards the doors.

Before anyone could answer, one of the giant doors shifted open with a groan and Eliot’s fingers tensed at his sides, prepared to cast. It caught him off guard when a perfectly human-looking man stepped outside, looking them over with a bored expression. The only thing strange about him was his clothing, but even that wouldn’t have made Eliot glance at him twice on the street. 

“What business do you have?” he asked in a dull voice.

“I… We, um, need to speak with the queen,” Quentin replied, his voice ragged from stress.

“Regarding?”

“A deal,” Julia answered this time, stepping forward. 

The man’s brow twitched upward. “You wish to make a deal?”

“N-No,” Quentin said. “I already made a deal. I have—questions.”

The man looked Quentin over with condescending eyes before dipping his chin slightly in a nod. “Follow me.”

Quentin took several steps towards the door before looking back over his shoulder, and Eliot had to quash the impulse to smirk snidely at Julia when it was him Quentin sought instead of her. It was childish, unnecessary, and definitely not the appropriate time. Keeping his expression as neutral as possible, he stepped past Julia and Penny to walk with Quentin inside the castle.

They were immediately pitched into darkness, and Eliot could barely make out the shapes of ivy leaves and the large blooms of flowers growing along the walls. There was light not far ahead, revealing more greenery, though Eliot could see hints of stone beneath the crawling vines and lichen growing across the floor. He felt a sense of creeping unease when he remembered fairies couldn't be seen by human eyes, but figured Quentin would have reacted by now if  _ he’d  _ seen something. 

They followed the strange man through the curving hall and into a large chamber that appeared to be empty, but Eliot knew by the sharp intake of Quentin’s breath it wasn’t. It was a challenge to maintain an appearance of calm when he had no idea what they were facing, but Eliot managed to keep his eyes straight ahead as Julia and Penny entered the room behind him. 

“It wasn’t really my idea,” Quentin said, obviously responding to a voice the rest of them couldn’t hear. “We, um. They’re my friends and the only family we really have. So, if you could just…”

Eliot’s eyes widened at the sudden appearance of an alien-looking woman before them, her black eyes impassive as she regarded them. All around her, other fairies became visible, many of them armed with long spears. They were all dressed nearly identically, and the combination of the strange lace patterns of their clothing and their black, fathomless eyes made Eliot think of spiders, very much against his will. 

“I am not exactly sure what you think can be accomplished with this visit, considering you did not bring the girl.”

Quentin froze at the mention of Kit, and Julia waited a moment before stepping closer to the queen to stand at his side. “What would bringing her accomplish?” 

The queen studied Julia silently for a long moment before dismissing her to turn her consideration towards Quentin again. “She has reached the peak of her abilities?”

Quentin gaped at the queen in confusion. “You  _ knew  _ about her magic?”

The woman’s head tilted slightly to the side, but her smooth, expressionless face made it impossible for Eliot to read anything out of the small movement. “The origin of her power confused you?”

“I—yeah? I figured it had something to do with this place, o-or you, but it’s not like we had a manual.”

Eliot was fairly sure the woman rolled her eyes, but it was difficult to tell. “So you’re here because you do not understand. I thought I had made it simple for you, but apparently I’ve spent too long away from your kind. You’re more dull-witted than I remember.”

Julia’s mouth turned down at the comment, but she quickly composed herself, while Penny only crossed his arms, looking bored. 

“I’m assuming her power came from you, then?” Eliot asked, looking to fill in the gaps. 

“You were not here before,” she said, looking him over with mild curiosity.

“No, but I’m here now. And I’m guessing if you gave Kit your magic, it’s meant to be used to free the slaves in our world.”

“You would be correct,” she replied slowly, as if Eliot were deeply stupid. 

Eliot shrugged, determined to ignore her tone. “Okay, so why not send him?” he asked, gesturing to the man that had led them to the throne room. “Why not juice him up and have him do it? Or someone else, years ago? Why pick a child?”

“Our magic cannot be given to just anyone. The girl was an exception—she was nourished by this realm. The seed was already within her. No other human would have that potential.” Her gaze turned to Quentin again. “No other humans have dared trespass here.”

So, Eliot had been correct, at least partially. Kit being conceived in the fairy realm, all the time they’d spent there while Alice was pregnant—it had been a factor in her magic. 

“O-Okay,” Quentin spoke up. “Fine, you gave it to her. You’re saying she can break the deal and free the fairies?”

The queen nodded. “If her magic took hold.”

“Yeah, it definitely did,” he replied distractedly, and Eliot could see Quentin’s brain was running overtime, his eyes distant as he pushed his hair back from his face. “Can you—tell us how? O-Or is that something we’re supposed to figure out?”

“I assumed you would bring her here when she could not end the deal on her own. There was… an exchange that could not be completed when you were last here. She was far too young.”

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” Penny asked, an edge to his voice. Eliot had to agree. 

“It’s nothing more than a guided meditation of sorts,” the queen told them. “Something she needs to learn to unlock the remainder of her abilities.”

“Is that wise? She’s five,” Julia reminded the woman, “and we still don’t know what those abilities would be, not all of them.”

“Nor do I,” the queen admitted. “She was given our magic, yes, but even I do not know how deeply it runs within her. Still, this last gift I have for her… she should have more than enough magic to end the deal. This will leave the reputation of my people intact and the girl does not have to leave her home.” She focused on Quentin. “That is what you want, is it not? An end to this?”

“Of course it is, but you’re still not exactly being straight-forward on why you need to see her  _ now.”  _

The queen shifted a bit on her throne, and Eliot could have sworn she seemed almost uncomfortable. “In order to reach her full potential, the girl has to be given a name. Fairy names are powerful, much more sacred than even the deals we strike. Only she and I can know this name; she can never tell any of you, or she risks losing her magic. She can only break the deal with her name.”

“Okay,” Julia spoke. “So, we bring her here and she learns this name. And she breaks the deal. Then what?”

“I didn’t say—”

Julia cut Quentin off with a look, but it wasn’t unkind. Eliot understood that look: what choice did they have? Quentin seemed to understand it too, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. 

“There is nothing beyond that,” the queen replied. “Those were our terms.”

“So, the fairies can just come here on their own?”

“I never mentioned them coming here. They will be free to do as they please. I will know when the deal is broken, which is all that should matter to you. If you bring the girl now, there will be no point in us communicating again after this.”

Eliot watched Quentin throw a helpless look towards Penny over his shoulder, and with a quick nod the Traveler vanished from the throne room. 

**Kit**

“What about that one?” Kit asked, pointing at the screen of Margo’s laptop. She loved that Margo was always willing to look at things to buy with her. Her dad didn’t understand—even if you couldn’t actually  _ buy  _ things, it was still fun to look at them.

Margo wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. It’s cute, but it also looks like something you’d wear for competitive figure skating. Let’s keep looking.”

Kit scrolled down the page of dresses in her size, stopping again. “It’s pink! And it has a unicorn on it!”

Margo waved her hand, looking bored. “Cute bottom, cheap top. Let’s stay away from knits, huh?”

“I don’t know how,” Kit told her, but continued to scroll. 

Margo suddenly cursed and Kit looked away from the laptop to see her uncle Penny standing in the dining room. He didn’t look happy at all, but she wasn’t sure that meant anything was wrong. He usually looked pretty grumpy. “Is Daddy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Uh, turns out you need to come with us, though.”

Kit jumped up eagerly from the sofa. “Really? Okay!”

Penny’s eyebrow moved up as he looked towards Margo. “You comin’?”

Margo grinned, leaving her seat to join them. “Hells yes.”

Kit took Penny’s hand in her right and Margo’s in her left and a moment later felt a wave of warmth wash over her face and neck. The air felt different, warmer and wetter, and looking around, Kit took in everything as quickly as she could. It was a large room, full of all types of leaves and flowers. Seeing her father, she quickly left Penny’s side to join him, relieved when he cupped the crown of her head in his hand. 

He looked scared. 

Looking towards the other side of the room, Kit knew the woman seated in the wooden chair had to be the queen of the fairies. All the other fairies were standing, and her chair looked really important, like a tree had bent itself all out of shape just so she could use it. 

“Who is this?” the queen demanded, her chin raised high as she stared across the room at Margo. “Did you decide you needed to bring an army for a simple conversation?”

Kit watched Margo cross her arms, her eyebrows rising. “Lady, I  _ am  _ the army.”

“She’s a friend,” her father explained, sounding very tired as he looked down at her. “Kit, the queen needs to talk to you about some stuff. Are you okay with that?”

Studying his face, Kit was pretty sure her dad was the one that wasn’t okay, even though his voice sounded normal enough. Glancing at her Aunt Jules and Eliot, she could see they looked just as tense. 

The queen looked calm enough, and though her eyes were strange, dark, and hard to read, she didn’t seem all that scary, really. Maybe if someone had hurt her own family, she’d be mad enough to kidnap babies too. “I’m… yeah, I’m okay,” she told her dad. 

At her response, the queen slowly stood from her chair, holding her hand out. “Follow me, then.” Her head moved just slightly. “We will be just down the hall and will return shortly,” she informed the others.

Kit slipped from under her father’s hand and smiled at him, not wanting him to be afraid. He didn’t return her smile but nodded at her, and she turned to follow the queen behind the throne and into a narrow hallway that was lit by fat candles dripping down the walls. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“My chambers,” the queen told her, stopping at a large door with all kinds of weird carvings on it. It opened on its own and the woman gestured for Kit to step inside. 

“Wow,” she breathed as she entered the room, looking around with wide eyes. It was brighter in here, and she noticed small spheres of light moving slowly throughout the room. There was a huge bathtub right in the middle of everything, which was weird, and an equally large bed tucked into the corner of the room with all kinds of silky material hanging over it from the ceiling above. 

There were also vines everywhere, and Kit stepped carefully across the floor to avoid tripping over some of the thicker ones. The queen stepped ahead of her and led her to a small table with two chairs that seemed to have formed from all the plants growing throughout the room. “Will I hurt it?” Kit asked, looking at the delicate blooms that covered the back of the chair and the leaves she wouldn’t be able to avoid sitting on. 

“Not at all,” the queen told her, a small smile on her lips as she took a seat in the chair across from her. 

Kit hoisted herself up into the chair and settled onto the criss-crossing vines that made up its seat. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, and she hoped this wouldn’t take long. “What did you want to talk about?”

“You’re here to learn your name. Your father called you Kit before?”

She nodded. “Yeah, but it’s really Katherine. Katherine Eliza Coldwater. I already know it.”

The queen shook her head. “Not your human name. You must have a fairy name, and those are chosen in a different way. I am going to help you find it by leading you through your memories. I will not be able to see them with you, but when we’re finished you should be able to tell me what you saw, and we will learn your name from that.” She placed her arms on the table, her palms up. “Give me your hands.”

Kit swallowed as she looked at the woman’s long, pointed fingernails, but she reached her arms out and rested her hands over the queen’s. “Now, close your eyes and try to concentrate on yourself. On who you are.”

Kit nodded, shutting her eyes. She wasn’t sure about the other part.  _ I’m Kit,  _ she thought, her brow furrowing.  _ I’m Quentin Coldwater’s kid. And Alice Quinn’s. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I have an aunt and uncle. And maybe another aunt and uncle? I haven’t asked, but Margo and Eliot could be that too. I’d like that. I like magic. I like reading but I’m not very good at it yet. I like games where I build things or figure things out. Fighting games are dumb. I like art. And animals. _

Pretty soon, Kit didn’t feel exactly alone with her thoughts. There was another presence with her, and she began to see things. Some of them she remembered clearly, like the first fairy she’d seen in her father’s store. The way the glass had exploded inside the bad man’s car. The mouse-shaped stain in the carpet of her bedroom before they’d gone to live in the hotel.

There were also things she had never remembered before, but as soon as she saw them she knew they were her memories. Her grandfather, looking thin and pale in a hospital bed as he smiled at her. Her grandmother, who always seemed like she was in a hurry to be somewhere and patted her head like a dog. 

And then Kit remembered more people. Her  _ other  _ grandparents, the large house they’d lived in, and how nervous her father had looked as he held her close to him, his smile never reaching his eyes. She remembered sleeping in her mother’s old room and looking at the pictures on the walls. She remembered her father pacing the floor of that room long after he’d put her down to sleep. 

There were hundreds of memories; too many to count. Flashes of her Aunt Julia and Uncle Penny, and over and over and over again, her father. She barely had any memories without him, except those few terrifying days she now remembered clearly. Watching her mother grimly empty a bag full of objects: crystals and candles and books. Wailing as she went up in blue flames and collapsed to the ground, out of Kit’s sight from her carrier. Crying loudly in hopes of waking her up or gaining the attention of her father, because he never ignored her for long. 

She remembered the fairy who had peered down at her curiously, who had carried her away. She remembered her joy when she’d finally seen her father again, how hungry and tired and miserable she’d been up until then. 

The memories came faster and faster, until Kit could barely follow the thread of them, but after a long while, they slowed to a crawl and sharpened with such sudden clarity she felt as if she were living it. 

“You look good,” she heard, and Kit took in the high, thin voice with interest, moving her eyes from her father’s face to see a beautiful woman with large blue eyes and striking blonde hair. Her mother. She knew this now, but she hadn’t known then, and she could feel her own curiosity. Seeing the familiar red door and the hedges that lined the yard behind the woman, Kit knew she was in her grandfather’s house, being held in her father’s arms. She was small here; this was an old memory.

“Uh, thanks,” her father said as he stepped back with her, allowing her mother inside. “I, um, I have all her stuff right here. And you can call if you need anything. Any time’s fine. She’s not sleeping so well right now but she really likes car rides. You should have some peace for a while.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” her mother said. They both sounded nervous, and it made Kit feel nervous too. Where was she going? Her father’s arm felt tense around her. She didn’t like it.

“Thank you, Q. For trusting me with her. I-I know I haven’t been involved or anything. I’d just like to spend some time with her, you know?”

Kit felt her father relax a bit against her, and when he spoke his voice was soft. “Of course I trust you, Vix. I mean… no matter the situation, you’re still her mom.”

Her mother smiled, her eyes crinkling behind her glasses. “Thanks, Q.”

Kit gasped as she was jerked back into reality, her eyes flying open. The room canted to the side for a moment and she instinctively gripped the queen’s wrists for balance until she realized it was only her vision. The room wasn’t moving. “What happened?” she asked breathlessly.

“You found your memory. The spell ends abruptly after that.”

Kit blinked several times, nodding in agreement. “That was bad,” she agreed, releasing the woman’s wrists. “Sorry.”

“What did you see?” the queen asked, ignoring her apology.

Kit frowned thoughtfully. “My mom and dad. I was a baby and they were talking. I-I think my mom was taking me somewhere. I was scared because I didn’t know who she was and my dad seemed kind of nervous at first?”

“Anything else?”

Kit nodded. “My dad called her Vix. And her name was Alice, but she looked like she liked it.”

The queen smiled. “Vix and Kit. Interesting.”

“Why?”

The queen stood from her chair, walking over towards a set of drawers and pulling out a small object she folded inside her hand before returning to the table. “Vixens are foxes. Female ones, to be specific. And their offspring are sometimes called kits.”

Kit smiled, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. I think perhaps you may have a lot of your mother in you, though she passed some time ago. Your name will be Daughter of the Vixen. Does that suit you?”

Kit nodded immediately. “It’s—kinda long? But yeah.”

“It is much simpler in our language,” the queen told her. “Can you say ‘Elruin?’”

“El-roo-win,” Kit tried to repeat. 

The queen tilted her head a bit. “Close. You will need to practice, but you must never speak your name in front of anyone. You could lose your magic if you do. Do you understand?”

“Not even my dad?” Kit asked worriedly.

“Absolutely no one,” the queen told her. “Your father is aware of this. Now, what you will need to break the deal on my people is a sigil. The sigil that spells out your name.” She opened her hand, revealing a small, golden disk. “I will show you how to write it today, but I don’t expect you will remember.” Reaching with her other hand, the queen opened the disk, revealing something very similar to her aunt’s make-up compact, except both sides were mirrors. “I will store your sigil in this. It will only appear to you, should you need to remember it. When you are ready to break the deal, you only need to focus your thoughts on it and draw out your name. Make sure it’s done in dirt, dust, or snow—something temporary that can be erased.” The queen placed her finger on the table, pretending to draw on its surface. “You draw it like this,” she instructed, “and then place your hand over it and focus your power through it. That will serve to break the deal and erase your sigil at the same time.”

“Okay.”

“This mirror can also be used to contact me, if you find the need. I trust you will have more questions your father will not be able to answer; though I’m aware he does not think much of me, he may be relieved to know I’ve given this to you in years to come. Adolescence can be… a trying time, for our kind,” she said with a squint of her black eyes. “Also, you will find your magic will strengthen with the knowledge of your name. Now, let us practice your writing so I can return you to your people. It would not do them well to try barging through my door.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm a day late, but I will be posting on Thursdays from now on (as long as I've got a chapter ready.) This one is a just a little on the short side, but it couldn't be helped. Hope you enjoy!

**Troubles**

**Quentin**

When Kit finally emerged from the dark hall past the throne, looking just as she had when she had disappeared with the queen, Quentin clenched his jaw tightly to prevent himself from sobbing with relief. The entire time she’d been gone he’d reminded himself again and again the deal was still in effect, the queen couldn’t hurt her in any way, but it had done nothing to silence his frantic anxiety. Seeing Kit smile up at him as she rejoined their group brought him some peace but Quentin was still in a hurry to get her back to the hotel and make sure she was alright. 

“She said for us to go,” Kit told him, holding a golden disk of some sort against her chest. “I learned my fairy name, so it’s fine.” She held up the disk before he could ask about it. “It’s in here if I forget it.”

Quentin nodded, trying to match his daughter’s casual demeanor when he’d just spent the past twenty minutes on the verge of a mental breakdown. “O-Okay.” 

“Yeah, this place is giving me serious  _ Troll  _ vibes,” Margo grumbled, her eyes unsettled as she glanced around at all the plant-life climbing over the walls and floor. At Eliot’s confused look, she groaned. “You don’t watch anything fun.”

“I’ve never had cable,” he reminded her in a tired voice, completely at odds with the telling twitch of his lips as he tried not to laugh.

Penny joined hands with the four of them and moments later they were in the hotel lobby. Quentin immediately crouched down to look his daughter over. She only smiled as he checked her for bruises or any lingering magical energies. “You’re okay? What happened?” 

Her eyes widened, looking a bit overwhelmed by his intensity. “She showed me all this stuff that happened. I remembered a lot of it, but some of it was when I was really little. It helped her figure out my fairy name.” Her brow wrinkled as she looked at him. “Why’d you call my mom Vix?”

A surprised laugh escaped Quentin. “You, uh. You saw that?”

“I saw you call her that at Grandpa’s house.”

“Yeah?” There was only one time Alice had ever been at his father’s house—when she’d taken Kit to the fairy realm. “Well, um. A long time ago, your mom and I—this professor at our school turned us into foxes.”

Kit’s eyes brightened. “Really? Was it fun?”

Quentin tried to keep himself from shooting Julia a warning look as he heard her laugh softly under her breath. “Yeah, it was… it was good. There was lots of snow to run around in. And a vixen is a female fox, so…”

Kit nodded. “The queen told me that. I just wondered why. Are we gonna break the spell on the other fairies now?”

Julia stepped closer to them, kneeling down and holding onto Quentin’s shoulder for support. “Do you think we should wait a little?” she asked him. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like a game plan for this. We should know if anything could—get weird,” she said with a nervous glance towards Kit, but Quentin heard what she meant. They had no idea if something could go wrong, or how to safeguard against it.

He nodded in agreement. “I think it’s too late to start something like that tonight, at least.”

Kit looked slightly disappointed but didn’t argue; which, to Quentin, was a sure sign she was tired. Unfolding himself so he could stand, he lent Julia his hand so she could do the same. While he didn’t feel as if an apology were in order, he did feel the need to say—something, at least. “Um. Thanks. For the idea. I know I wasn’t on board at first, but you were right.”

Julia shrugged, looking as uneasy as he felt. Both of them were comfortable sniping at each other—Quentin honestly couldn’t count the number of times they’d spent the day bitching at one another, and looking back it should’ve been obvious to him that his relationship with the woman had always been more familial than anything he might have fantasized over in his high school days. This wasn’t just a simple disagreement or annoyance, though, and he imagined Julia felt as lost as he did with how to navigate through it. He wanted to fix things between them, but Quentin knew she was wrong about Eliot and always had been. He just didn’t know how to help change her mind, or even if he ultimately could. “Um. When do you think you can come back?”

“Same time next week, probably?” she offered. 

He nodded. “Okay. I can… keep you up to date? Or if you have any ideas on how to test it, the deal-breaking thing?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know,” she replied, surprising him when she leaned forward to hug him. Quentin wrapped his arms around her in relief. “Be careful until then, okay?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, pulling away to smile at her. She grinned in response, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “You too. You’re a lot closer to them than I am, even if they haven’t figured you out yet.”

“I’ll watch my back,” she promised, stepping out of his arms.

Penny and Julia both spent several minutes telling Kit good-bye, and Penny gave Quentin a short wave before he disappeared with his wife. 

“Well, that was fun,” Eliot sighed, brushing his curls away from his brow before they immediately fell back in place. “I’m about to tell Todd he’s in charge for the night and have a drink in my newly-heated apartment.”

“You’re sharing,” Margo informed him, bending slightly to pull her shoes off one at a time and carry them in her hand before arching a brow in Quentin’s direction. “You coming?”

“I, uh, should probably get Kit to bed, and like…” He shrugged, not really knowing how to beg off. He knew drinking around Eliot would probably be a bad idea, and after the day he’d had he wasn’t feeling all that emotionally stable. It all seemed like a dangerous combination. “I could probably find some ideas on how to test the fairy stuff.”

Margo rolled her eyes. “You can do all that tomorrow. You just partially unfucked yourself; we should celebrate that.”

Quentin looked down as Kit tugged on his hand. “You can tuck me in and go,” she told him. “I have my phone if I get scared. I wanna go, but I  _ am  _ kind of sleepy.”

Margo grinned. “We can hang out tomorrow, munchkin. You went through a lot today, yeah?”

Kit nodded in agreement, and Quentin couldn’t come up with another excuse. “Uh, okay. I can, um, meet you up there?”

“I’m not waiting,” Margo said. “El’s a big boy, he can talk to Todd on his own.”

Eliot rolled his eyes before leaving them in the lobby and Margo led the way to the elevator. 

“Are you gonna tuck me in too?” Kit asked Margo as they stepped inside and Quentin pressed the button for the sixth floor.

Margo feigned a nervous expression. “I’m not sure, I’ve never tucked anyone in before. Is it hard?”

Kit laughed, fully realizing Margo was messing with her. “Noooo.”

“I think I can handle it, then. You’re not the ‘one more story’ type, are you? Because I was, and I’m pretty sure that was annoying as hell.”

“I don’t need a story tonight,” Kit told her. “I just wanna go to sleep. I think whatever I did with the queen made me really tired.”

“Sounds like some sort of memory charm,” Margo said, running her hand over Kit’s hair. “Pulling stuff out of your subconscious like that can be pretty draining, I’ve heard.”

“There’s no, like, after effects?” Quentin asked, looking over Kit in concern. 

“Nah, she’ll be fine after some sleep.”

Quentin led the way to Kit’s room and the girl made no fuss about finding her pajamas and changing into them at the side of her bed. Afterwards, Quentin helped her pull the blankets back on the bed and waited for her to situate herself before covering her up to her shoulders and leaning down to smack a loud kiss onto her forehead. “All good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Margo has to do it too, though.”

“Jeez,” Margo complained with a smile, walking around the other side of the bed to do the same as Kit giggled. “Good-night, you brat.”

“I am not,” Kit replied haughtily, squirming deeper under her blankets.

Quentin made sure the cell phone on the nightstand was charged before walking towards the door with Margo. “Call if you need me, okay?”

“I won’t,” Kit told him through a huge yawn. “‘Night, Daddy.”

“‘Night,” he said with a soft smile, leading Margo back into the hall.

“Well, that was easier than I expected,” she mused quietly as they walked back towards the elevator.

“Yeah, it happens about once a year,” he laughed. “But she’s pretty good anyway, and I don’t mind reading to her at night. We’re almost done with  _ Matilda.” _

“I loved that movie,” she replied as they stepped back into the elevator. “Eliot better have olives up there.”

They were the first to arrive in Eliot’s apartment, and Margo flipped the lights on in a familiar way before opening the cabinets in the small kitchen before she withdrew a martini glass. “What’s your poison?” she called over her shoulder.

“Uh, I’m not really picky? A-And I don’t even know if I should—”

Margo whirled around to pin him with a domineering look. “We’re drinking, Q. El can whip up pretty much anything, but there’s wine if you’re not feeling up to cocktails.”

“There’s wine?” he asked, unable to disguise the interest in his voice. “Like, what kind?”

Margo rolled her eyes before opening one of the cabinets and standing on her tip-toes. “Looks like a… Cabernet and a Malbec?”

“Yeah, the Cabernet would be fine,” he told her, crossing the room to take it down from the cabinet, since he had a few inches on her, especially with her heels off.

Margo tossed her heels close to the elevator and pulled a wine glass from the cabinet just before Eliot stepped into the room, stepping over her cast-off shoes with a raised brow. “I do love when you make yourself at home, Bambi,” he told her, glancing at the bottle of wine and jar of olives on his countertop. “Please tell me this isn’t going to be an experimental night of drinking.”

“I want martinis and Q wants wine.”

Eliot gave Quentin a doubtful look. “Sure about that? It’s not two buck Chuck, Q.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “And I’m not twenty anymore,  _ El.” _

“Okay,” Eliot said with a shrug, pressing his lips together but it did nothing to hide his smile as he took the olives and Margo’s glass with him to his bar set up. Margo followed to sink onto the sofa and Quentin popped the cork on the wine before bringing the bottle and his own glass to join her. She immediately reclined and propped her small feet on Quentin’s lap, smirking when he raised an eyebrow at her. 

Eliot took his time at the bar, and Quentin found himself hypnotized by the graceful movements of his hands and the practiced way he mixed the martini together, gracefully garnishing the glass with two olives before placing it on the coffee table for Margo. For himself, Eliot poured a simple glass of bourbon and Margo sat up long enough to allow him a seat at the other end of the sofa before she rested her head in his lap.

“You know, you can’t really drink like this,” Eliot told her, sipping at his drink before setting it aside to reach for his cigarettes. 

“I don’t know, it’s almost worth it,” she sighed happily. “It’s been too long since I’ve been between two boys.”

“Jesus,” Quentin whispered, leaning forward to pour himself a generous glass of wine. Eliot exhaled smoke and offered the pack his way. Quentin took it with a look of thanks, gratefully lighting one with a tut before leaning back into the cushion. 

“Are you being judgy, Coldwater?” Margo asked curiously, sitting up just enough to meet his eye.

“God—no, of course not,” he sputtered, nearly choking on his cigarette. “That’s just, uh, not exactly the kind of situation I’d ever imagine finding myself in. Even hypothetically.”

“No? You  _ did  _ date Eliot, right?”

“Bambi,” Eliot complained, thumping her forehead with his finger. 

“Ow, you dick!” she laughed, rubbing between her eyebrows as she sat up to grab her drink. “Let me guess, you were all  _ monogamous  _ and  _ vanilla,  _ weren’t you?” she asked, her eyes dancing with evil mirth. 

Eliot sighed, giving Quentin an apologetic glance before his eyes darted nervously about the room.

Quentin smiled, taking a large swallow of wine. “Maybe one of those,” he told Margo, sure to keep his voice casual. She cackled, shoving her toes into his thigh. Eliot looked surprised, but some of the tension drained from his shoulders as he smiled hesitantly.  _ We can talk about this,  _ Quentin thought.  _ It happened, and it’s fine now. We’re fine.  _

“It’s always the quiet ones,” she said wistfully, draining half of her martini. Her eyes turned more serious as she studied his face. “How’s it feel, though? Knowing you get to keep the munchkin?”

“Uh…” Quentin felt himself grinning like an idiot and ducked his head. “Great. Like—I don’t think it’s actually sunk in yet?”

She smiled. “You’re probably gonna cry like a big baby when it does.”

“I mean, uh. Probably? Yeah,” he laughed. 

“I really wanna celebrate,” Margo said, “but to be real, I’m drinking because I can’t stop wondering what’s next, you know?”

“We can’t think about that tomorrow?” Eliot asked with a pout. 

“Yeah, but  _ I’m  _ thinking about it now. The McAllisters are already setting fires. What are they gonna do when their fairies take off?”

“We’ve got the hotel locked down tight with wards. There’s not much more we can do at this point,” Eliot replied. “We can’t exactly go on the offensive against them.”

Margo shrugged, standing to walk to the bar. Eliot started to leave his seat, but she waved him off. “I can make a damn martini. And do we really know how powerful they are? They’ve got Brakebills in their pockets, sure, but I’ve never heard anything all that impressive about them magically. All I know is they’ve got money to hire people to do their dirty work for them.”

“Yeah,” Eliot agreed. “A lot of money that can hire a lot of people. More than we have, I’m sure.”

Margo frowned as she conceded to his point, popping more olives into her glass before rejoining them on the sofa. Quentin finished off his glass as Margo and Eliot continued to debate the McAllisters and poured another, content to listen to their rising and falling voices without focusing on their words. 

So much had happened in such a short time, and it was hard for Quentin to grasp that it was nearly over. Not completely over, or else Margo and Eliot would have nothing to argue over right now, but the deal itself… It had been hanging over his head for so long now it was hard to imagine living without it. No one was taking Kit away from him; in days, they’d be free.

Quentin almost did start crying then; instead, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few long moments until he regained control of his emotions, finishing the glass he had just poured and holding the last bit of it on his tongue so he could relish the almost bitter taste for a moment before pouring more. He’d probably end up stumbling to his room later, but it had been months since he’d enjoyed a good drink, and after the week he’d had, he felt he deserved it. 

**Eliot**

Eliot was listening with interest to Margo’s ideas on ways to strengthen the security of the hotel when they both heard a soft snore from the other side of the sofa. Leaning back, Eliot smiled to see Quentin’s head resting against the back of the cushion, his mouth open slightly. Margo giggled, reaching over to pluck the mostly empty wine glass from his hand to place it on the table. “Poor puppy,” she said softly, pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa and spreading it over him. 

“Well, he’s had a day.” Eliot forced his eyes away from Quentin to finish his drink. He wanted another one but knew Margo would give him that  _ look  _ of hers if he did, which is why he’d poured more than his usual in the first place. 

“Fuck that, he’s had a few years by now.”

Eliot nodded in agreement. “He did good today, though. That queen was…” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Not someone I’d want to spend any quality time with.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t really how I’d imagined fairies would look. Hell, they were more endearing in that fucking horror movie.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he deadpanned, smirking when she gave him a tired look. 

“Of course not, it wasn’t a musical or period drama garbage,” she snarked. “Do you think that bitchy best friend of his will actually come up with a way to test Kit’s new trick?”

Eliot shrugged. “Probably, but I was wondering if we couldn’t just have her make a deal first and then try to break it? Something easy?”

“Do you think she can make deals?”

“I’d think she’d have to be able to, if she can break them.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I guess we could try that and maybe put some protection spells on her beforehand? I’m not really expecting anything to, like, blow up, but…”

“What if something blows up?” Eliot finished her thought. “I’m sure she’ll be fine, but there’s no reason not to take precautions where we can. We’ll talk to Q about it when he’s conscious.”

“Sounds like a solid plan.” Margo set her glass aside and regarded him critically. “How are you doing after today?”

“Me?” he asked, arching a brow. “Bambi, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” she said, far too casually. “I just know things got intense today, so I thought I’d check in.”

“I mean, breaking up the spat between Q and Julia wasn’t exactly fun for me, but it went better than I expected. I even think there’s a chance she may be civil for awhile.” 

“Oh? How’d that happen?”

Eliot briefly met her eyes. “Q, he… basically told her to get over it. I’m still clueless as to what her fucking problem is in the first place, but I think he made his point quite well.”

Margo smiled, glancing back at Quentin before focusing on him again. “He’s in love with you, you know.”

Eliot’s breath caught in his throat, terror freezing him in place momentarily before he forced out a bitter laugh. “Margo, there’s a—sizeable difference in remembering your ex was a fantastic lay and…  _ that.” _

“Oh, I’m aware. He definitely remembers the fantastic lay part, too. But that’s not all that’s going on with him. He told me, you know. About how things ended with you two.”

Eliot gave her a dark look, completely unable to believe she’d gone digging for dirt on his past with Quentin. “You had no right to—”

She held her hand up, effectively cutting him off as she gave him a mildly dangerous look. “I didn’t do jack,” she told him. “All I did was ask him if you two could play nice together.”

Eliot looked away from her, trying to compose himself. “Well, I’m sure he blamed the entire thing on himself, but—”

“He actually didn’t go into a lot of detail,” she interrupted again, her voice careful in a way that made him want to scream, even though he knew it was his own fault. He hated appearing fragile, but Margo  _ knew  _ when it came to this—he was, or at least had been. “It was enough for me to get why you’ve never been eager to bring it up, though.” Her face softened as she continued. “When I told him I didn’t know about him… he tried to blow it off, but he was hurt. And when he’s looking at you, it’s not always sex he’s got on the brain. Did you see his face when you were talking about Chicago? It was like he wanted to fuck with time and go beat the shit out of anyone who did that to you.” 

Eliot huffed out an incredulous laugh, his eyes fixed on the balcony doors. “Look, I don’t… really want to talk about this,” he admitted, scraping his teeth over his lip. 

“Yeah, I know,” Margo replied, resting her hand above his knee. “But you should know, he’s not the only one getting a little obvious, El.”

He looked at her sharply. “I haven’t said anything, or  _ done  _ anything that—”

“You don’t have to, asshole,” she cut him off. Again. “Best friend, remember? And I won’t go into details, because I’m pretty sure you’d go flying out those doors and I’m not really looking to scrape you off the sidewalk tonight. Just… I get you’re feeling some shit, and I worry about you. Okay?”

“I’m fine,” he told her, his voice barely above a whisper, and he was having that second drink the moment she left him alone. 

“Yeah, I know,” she said, standing from the sofa and brushing her thumb over his cheekbone. “I’ll fuck off, since I ruined the mood. Don’t empty the liquor cabinet, ‘kay?”

“No promises,” he replied, sighing as Margo left him alone with Quentin, who was no longer snoring but instead breathing deeply, his bow-shaped lips still parted slightly as he slept. Tearing his eyes away, Eliot busied himself with cleaning up, taking their glasses to the kitchen and disposing of the empty wine bottle. He put his bar back to rights and looked out into the darkness through his balcony doors before drawing the curtains together. There was really nothing to do but wake Quentin now. He hated to disturb him when he was resting so peacefully, but Eliot knew the man would completely freak out if he woke on Eliot’s sofa in the morning. 

Leaning over him, Eliot took a moment to study Quentin’s face, a small smile turning his lips up as he remembered the countless times he’d seen him like this. He’d always been something of a light sleeper, and any time Quentin had shifted or grunted in his sleep in the past, Eliot had woken long enough to look at him for a few moments before closing his eyes again. Quentin had slept like the dead, and he wondered if that had changed since Kit had come along. 

Fighting the urge to trace his fingers across the faint lines in Quentin’s brow, Eliot reached out and gently shook his shoulder instead. It took a few attempts, but eventually Quentin’s eyes opened, squinting up at Eliot in confusion. “El?”

Eliot fought a shiver at the rough growl in his voice, thick from sleep. “Hey, Q. You fell asleep.”

Quentin lifted his head, wincing for a moment before he looked around and down at the blanket covering him. “I did? How long ago?”

“Not long. I figured your bed would be better on your neck, though.”

Quentin wiped his hands down his face, yawning hugely behind them before they dropped into his lap. “I guess I got a little drunk.” His mouth turned down thoughtfully, causing his lower lip to jut out in a way that physically pained Eliot. “Yeah. I think I’m drunk.”

Eliot chuckled. “Well, if you need to crash, that’s fine.”

Quentin shook his head, a chagrined smile on his face. “No, I can handle the elevator. I just… haven’t drank in awhile, I guess.” His hands clenched in the blanket and Eliot watched his fingers brush over the fabric before he gathered it up and set it aside. “Sorry for passing out.”

“It’s fine,” Eliot assured him. “You’ve had quite the day.”

“I guess.” He stood from the sofa, arching his back a little in a stretch, and Eliot had to cut off the groan that wanted to escape him when a strip of the skin on Quentin’s stomach was revealed in the process. “I… Thanks. For everything today.”

“I didn’t do anything, Q.”

Quentin pinned him with a mildly annoyed look. “No, just went to a whole other world with me so I didn’t have to spend an awkward trip with Julia alone.”

Eliot shrugged. “You two seemed okay before she left.”

“I… think we’ll be fine? I don’t know. It kind of depends on her, I guess.” He looked like he was debating something, and Eliot watched him wet his lips anxiously before he bent over to gather the throw blanket in his arms. “I’m taking this.”

A surprise laugh burst out of Eliot. “Oh?”

Quentin nodded resolutely. “Yeah. I think I’m just drunk enough to get away with it.”

“You may be right,” he replied, trying not to melt when Quentin’s dimples made an appearance as he smiled cheekily. “I really only bought it for the pop of color.”

“Well, it’s really soft. And I’m stealing it.”

Eliot nodded, trying not to laugh. “Fair enough. See you tomorrow?”

“Uh. Yeah. I’ll just…” Quentin gestured awkwardly towards the elevator doors before walking towards them. “‘Night, El.”

“Goodnight,” Eliot called quietly, watching him disappear behind the steel doors a moment later.

He was in so much fucking trouble.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I forgot to post this morning and kind of panicked once I remembered. This chapter is much shorter than usual because it's a flashback! I also removed all the images I'd made for it since I didn't feel like wasting time hosting all of it and doing html and grumblegrumble. Next week I'll post a chapter of normal length, possibly a day early since it's the holidays and all. Hope you enjoy. :)

**A Look Back**

**October 29th, 2011**

**Eliot**

Eliot leaned back against the wall, taking in the kaleidoscope of colors dancing across the room courtesy of a cheap disco ball someone had rigged to hang from the ceiling fan. He had no idea whose apartment he was in, but assumed his date for the evening knew the host of the party. Not that he worried about it much. He had a drink in hand, a pleasant high going from the blunt he’d shared on the walk over, and a cute guy’s hand on his ass. What more could one ask for?

“You want another drink?” Lucas shouted over the music, close to Eliot’s ear. 

Eliot smirked flirtatiously at the man. “Are you trying to get me wasted?”

Lucas grinned. “Do I need to?”

Eliot laughed as his date left his side to get more drinks, taking a moment to glance around the room. It was a typical campus affair, complete with a cheap keg and dozens of Solo cups decorating every flat surface. Thankfully, there was also an impressive collection of liquor bottles on the kitchen counter, along with a few predictable mixers. The middle of the living room had been deemed a makeshift dance floor, but most of the party-goers were barely moving to the music, choosing to talk loudly to their friends instead. There also seemed to be a pretty intense card game happening at the kitchen table. 

Eliot’s gaze strayed to the sofa, where he saw the only person in the apartment who didn’t appear to be having a good time. The man was curled up into the corner of the piece of furniture, scrolling through his phone in a bored manner, but when he looked up to glance around the room, Eliot held his breath.

He was stunning, but obviously determined to hide it for some reason, his long hair falling into his dark eyes. It didn’t take away from the perfect curve of his jaw or the bewitching shape of his lips. His thick eyebrows were expressive as he looked around the room, pressing together worriedly before he focused on his phone again.

Forgetting all about Lucas, who he’d only met the night before anyhow, Eliot crossed the room as if pulled by a string and settled himself right next to the mysterious boy, who immediately looked up in alarm. 

“Hi,” Eliot greeted him. Seeing an ashtray on the coffee table, he moved it closer and fished his cigarettes from the pocket of his polo shirt. 

“Um. Hey.”

Distantly remembering not to cast, Eliot located a lighter on the table and lit his cigarette, inhaling smoothly and exhaling the smoke away from the sofa. “Not having a good time?” he asked casually, crossing his legs towards the man. 

“I—I mean, not really? I don’t… parties aren’t really my thing,” he admitted, his eyes darting nervously across the coffee table and the crowd beyond. “I just, um, came with a friend. And now I can’t find her, so I’m k-kind of stuck.”

Eliot had a hard time not smiling like an idiot. This boy was  _ cute  _ with his nervous little stammer. Eliot wondered if he’d stutter like that while getting his dick sucked. “What, will your girlfriend get mad if you leave without her?”

The boy’s eyes widened dramatically. “Oh! She’s—she’s not. My girlfriend, I mean. We’re just friends. She’s, um. Her boyfriend is here, too? Somewhere.”

Eliot gave him a pointed look. “Well, maybe they’re somewhere  _ together,”  _ he suggested, tapping ashes into the ashtray. 

“What are you…” His eyebrows climbed his forehead as Eliot’s words sunk in and he looked briefly annoyed. “Uh, yeah. Maybe.” He sighed heavily. “I guess I could head out, then.”

“Or you could stay,” Eliot told him. “I mean, you’re definitely the cutest guy here, and I’m bound to get bored if you leave.”

The boy froze, eyes going wide and startled, and Eliot forced down a grin as he was finally given a hurried once-over. “Um. Me?”

“Yeah, you. I’m Eliot, by the way.”

“Um. Quentin,” he replied, the tips of his ears and his cheeks filling with color as a tiny smile appeared on his lips. God, he was delicious. 

“Quentin? Not very common, but it suits you.”

“Thanks? I think.” He pushed the floppy strands of hair that fell around his face behind his ears, where they remained for all of two seconds before slipping free once more. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to you leaving if you wanted to leave with  _ me _ , though,” Eliot told him. 

“Uh, where?”

Eliot laughed. “My place. Or yours. We could disappear just like your friends.”

The blush on Quentin’s face deepened quickly before he started sputtering. “I, uh. Like, I-I’m flattered. Like  _ really,  _ but… I don’t even know you? I-I can’t just— _ go home  _ with you. That’s…” He shook his head, his lips pressed together anxiously. “I don’t really do that.”

Eliot wasn’t sure if he was more disappointed or enchanted. “Pity. Can I at least give you my number, then?”

Quentin searched his face, like he was looking for an answer to a riddle only he knew, before nodding and handing his phone over. Eliot entered his name and number into the contacts before giving it back to him. “It was nice to meet you, Quentin. I hope you call.”

“Um.” Quentin smiled at him, dimples suddenly framing his lips, and Eliot thought he might actually swoon. “Yeah. I-I will.”

Eliot crushed out his half-smoked cigarette and left the sofa, doing his best walk back towards the other side of the room, where Lucas was waiting with his drink. 

“Who was that?” he asked, looking towards Quentin.

“Oh, I’m not sure. He looked like he wasn’t having a good time, so I went to chat with him.”

“That was nice of you.”

Eliot smiled. “Wasn’t it?” 

***

The next morning, Eliot woke up shivering and groaned pathetically into his pillow as he attempted to find his blankets without moving too much. They finally came free from the other side of the bed and he sighed happily as he pulled them over his naked form, knowing he had the bed to himself. He loved when his guests showed themselves out. 

Noticing how bright the light was in his dorm room, he sat up and looked over at his roommate’s empty bed. Chance (of all the names, Jesus) spent the weekends at his parents’ house, which left Eliot free to entertain while he was away. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d slept until nearly eleven and laughed a bit at himself. Seeing he had two messages from an unknown number, he immediately assumed it was one of the other hedges in his coven, until he remembered meeting Quentin the night before and giving him his number.

Hurriedly unlocking his phone, Eliot opened his texts, grinning wildly as he read the messages he’d missed the night before. 

_ 1-862-555-7608: So ws giving me your number a joke? Bc I don’t think I’ve ever been hit on and rejected in like 10 minutes. _

_ 1-862-555-7608: Hyou don’t have to answer I’m just really drunk and this has never happened to me. I mean the getting rejected part has. A lot. But you’re just reall gorgous and I don't get why ou talked to me at all if you were with someone else. _

Seeing the messages had been sent almost seven hours earlier, Eliot quickly tapped out a reply. 

_ You wouldn’t come home with me, I had to settle. I really hate sleeping alone on my birthday. Forgive me? _

He was surprised to watch the dancing dots appear on his screen almost immediately, indicating Quentin was typing a response. 

_ 1-862-555-7608: Shit it was your birthday? _

_ Actually, today is my birthday. Wanna buy me dinner? _

Eliot waited impatiently after responding, bumping the sides of his feet together under the sheets as he waited for a reply. 

Seconds later, his phone chimed with a simple response:  _ “Sure. :)” _

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's technically late, but my family celebrates on Christmas Eve, so here I am posting at midnight!

**Minor Mendings**

**Quentin**

A week later, Quentin was curled up against the headboard of his bed upstairs trying to finish one of the books Julia had brought him on niffins, since his daughter had insisted on joining Eliot and Margo for their walk on the sixth floor. The voices down the hall kept distracting him but he didn’t want to be rude and shut his door, especially since it was Kit he could hear most clearly. She was full of opinions about their new apartment.

He’d spent his surprisingly chaos-free days dealing with the insurance claim from the fire and actually managing to do some studying for himself, even training in battle magic with Kady at one point. He’d also made a rough outline of what he needed to learn to test for his next level and had done some reading on those spells.

Breaking the fairy deal had been tested several times with no adverse results. They’d layered Kit in protective magics at first but had eventually agreed a simple shield spell would probably be effective for the real deal. Margo had tried trading her Snickers bar for a vanilla pudding as a “deal” and it had been completely uneventful, Kit adorably shooing them away in order to draw her newly acquired sigil into the dirt of the courtyard. Other than the small flare of light from the girl’s hand when she broke each deal, the whole thing had been anticlimatic, really. Kit had quickly grown bored by it all, taking both the candy bar and the pudding as payment for wasting an hour of her time. 

Outside of spending more time with the other members of the coven, Eliot was entirely focused on designs for Quentin’s apartment and had spent the bulk of his mornings down the hall, measuring and sketching out his ideas and discussing the more decorative elements with Margo when she was available. Kit was eager for them to start on her bedroom, and she loved Margo’s “mood boards” for the space. Quentin was starting to feel overwhelmed by their commitment to the project, but played along as well as he could.

Hearing footsteps, Quentin looked up from his book so he could watch Eliot saunter in through his open door. “What’s your opinion on built-ins?” he asked, his expression clearly conveying there was definitely a right or wrong answer to the question. 

“Um.” Quentin slipped the envelope from Alice’s letter inside the book and set it aside. “Remind me what those are?”

Eliot shot him a mildly exasperated look. “Shelving, Q. Built into a wall? I think your office would benefit, but  _ Margo  _ seems to think we should just buy regular shelves so you can arrange them how you like.”

“And Margo’s right!” her voice rang from several rooms down.

Quentin laughed, shaking his head. “El… You know I really don’t care either way, right?”

Eliot’s shoulders slumped as he sighed, really pouring the drama into it. “How are we supposed to make your space perfect if you don’t have an opinion on anything?”

Quentin shrugged. “I’m just—not that hard to please, I guess? I’ve never really had much of an issue with anywhere I’ve lived, outside of, like, things that were broken. Besides, you and Margo are great at stuff like this. I’m sure whatever you decide will be great.”

Eliot narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips, and Quentin thought he was possibly trying not to smile. “You’re impossible,” he complained before disappearing from the room. 

Quentin rolled his eyes fondly, and though he tried to focus his attention on reading again, he found he couldn’t concentrate. Eliot seemed to have adjusted very well to having him around again, which was really only making things  _ more  _ difficult for Quentin. He loved seeing this more relaxed, playful version of his ex-boyfriend, but it reminded him so much of their past together, and he kept finding himself wishing…

_ Stop it,  _ he told himself, wriggling his shoulders against the headboard, as if a change in position could somehow eradicate his traitorous thoughts. 

Eliot had always been attractive. He had that perfectly disheveled hair going for him, and those insanely expressive eyes. He had perfect lips and cheekbones to die for. (Also, he was so fucking  _ tall.)  _ Quentin wasn’t struggling with any of that. Well, he  _ was,  _ but it was something he was used to. 

It was seeing Eliot so at ease with himself that was driving him crazy. When they’d met as college freshmen, Eliot had still been struggling with who he wanted to be and no version had seemed to satisfy him entirely. When he’d approached Quentin all those years ago, he’d been openly flirtatious, looking like someone who had stepped out of time from a sock hop in his fitted polo, cardigan, and jeans rolled at the cuffs. 

Quentin had seen several drafts of Eliot Waugh: floral-patterned shirts and a brief but intense obsession with theater he’d never entirely lost; loose poet blouses and silk vests with paisley prints paired with apathy; bootcut jeans and thrifted Italian leather boots, with a flask he carried everywhere… None of it had mattered to Quentin, because he’d known  _ Eliot,  _ beneath it all. __

Now, it was like Eliot had somehow discovered his true self in the perfect lines of bespoke suits and intricately patterned waistcoats. The mask he’d always worn, while still there, seemed very thin; more like a habit than something he felt he truly needed. A security blanket, possibly. 

It made Quentin want him so much  _ more,  _ and made it impossible for him to act on it at the same time. This Eliot knew who he was and what he deserved. Why would he ever want Quentin again? He could have anyone he wanted; certainly a depressed mess of a human wouldn’t make the list. Eliot had probably been miserable with him more often than not, but he’d always been a good person and just a little too selfless. It was the only reason Quentin could come up with for him sticking around as long as he had. For Quentin, his years with Eliot had been some of the happiest of his life, but it couldn’t have been the same for Eliot, not when he’d accomplished so much without Quentin around. 

Sighing, Quentin let the book fall shut with a thud and placed it on his nightstand. Hearing Kit babbling away about “grasshopper green” versus “ice cream green,” he decided she was fine for the moment and left his room to walk to the elevator. He definitely needed a cigarette. 

Cursing at the icy wind circulating through the courtyard downstairs, he cast a quick warming spell before stealing a cigarette from the pack on the table. He was either going to have to quit or actually start buying his own soon and admit he’d truly started up again. He wouldn’t have time to worry about it today, though. In a few hours Julia and Penny would arrive and Kit would finally break the fairy deal, freeing the McAllister’s captives. With something so important planned, he found it a little ridiculous he couldn’t get Eliot off his mind; ridiculous, but really not all that surprising. 

Quentin wasn’t sure how long he stood in the cold, trying to figure out a way to stop being so pathetic, but figured it had been too long when Margo stepped outside, glaring angrily around at the air that dared to be so cold. “Sorry, I just meant to smoke,” he told her. “You guys done upstairs?”

“Yeah, but the kid’s fine. She’s on the couch with a movie,” Margo replied with a flap of her hand. “Eliot had to take off, so I brought her down in case anyone shows.”

“Thanks,” he told her, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is everything okay? With El, I mean?”

Margo nodded. “Yeah, he just has an appointment every other Friday.” Her mouth leveled into a thin line as she appeared to consider something. “Therapy. He won’t be gone long.”

“O-Oh.” Quentin tried to hide his shock, but knew he’d failed by Margo’s soft snort. “I… Sorry. I just never really pinned Eliot for sharing.”

She shrugged. “He kind of got forced into it during rehab. After that, he kept going but was super touchy about it. Now it’s just a thing he does.” She shivered. “Can we go the fuck inside?”

Quentin laughed, following Margo to the door and into the much warmer dining room. Other than Kit only Kady was present, hunched over a thick book in the corner as she took notes. 

“I wanted to get your opinions on Thanksgiving,” Margo told him as she took a seat in front of her laptop. Quentin joined her at the table, folding his arms across the surface. 

“Like what? Whether or not I think it’s an outdated, imperialist tradition?”

Margo rolled her eyes— _ hard.  _ “Uh, absolutely the fuck not,” she said with false cheer. “We have dinner here. Some of our witches don’t really have family around, or any family at all. What do you guys usually do for it?”

“Well, when my dad was around, he’d invite Jules over and she’d bring Penny. James, before that. Last year we went to her place, though.”

“Typical spread, I assume?”

“Uh, yeah. I think. Turkey, dressing, all that.”

Margo nodded before giving Quentin an almost hesitant look. “Are you gonna eat with us? Or fuck off with Julia?”

“I mean, I’d like to be here. Besides, I can’t really be seen on campus right now, so it’s not even an issue. Jules will miss seeing Kit stuff herself into a coma, but there’s not really anything we can do about that. It’s just one year.”

Margo scowled, her lip curling. “You can invite Julia,” she told him, “but if she starts getting shitty with Eliot again, someone’s gonna get hurt.  _ Her,  _ in case you’re curious.”

Quentin gave her a wry smile. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“What’s her fucking problem with him anyway? Did she have some unrequited crush on you back in the day or something?”

Quentin gaped at the suggestion, his stomach quivering with laughter over just how incredibly  _ wrong  _ Margo was. “Uh—no. Not at  _ all.  _ Like  _ I  _ had a crush on her for years, and it was the stupidest thing. We both just kind of ignored it until it wasn’t an issue anymore, but… I don’t know? When she first met him, she just seemed kind of like she didn’t believe it, that we were, like, seeing each other. I thought it was just because he was  _ way  _ more attractive than me.” Margo rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “She said he just seemed like… um, a fuckboy.”

Margo laughed at that, turning her eyes back to her laptop. “Well, El’s been called less accurate things. Especially in his younger days, or so I’ve heard. In detail.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t even know him,” Quentin reminded her. “It got worse after that, but she’d never explain herself. She just called me ‘naïve’ a lot. Until she had reasons to start accusing him of cheating, anyway,” he added with a frown. “It doesn’t explain why she  _ still  _ can’t stand him.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like being wrong,” Margo suggested. “Now, slide over here and help me with this grocery list.”

**Eliot**

“Well, Eliot. I think it sounds like you’re doing fairly well, considering the circumstances. You should be proud of that.”

Eliot shot his therapist an incredulous look before taking in the view of the park below with its ant-sized people, milling through the dead grass and bare trees. “I… guess?” he replied, never all that comfortable with praise that strayed outside the norm. He loved receiving compliments on his clothes or his hair, or even his skill at magic or mixing cocktails. Those were easy; he knew people found him attractive, and there was really no use in ignoring his talents. Beyond that, Eliot usually found himself tempted to squirm when anyone complimented anything beyond his carefully curated surface. Maybe he’d gone too many formative years without it and would never adjust.

“You guess?” Jean repeated with an easy smile, tapping her pen—which had very likely cost more than Eliot’s shoes—against the legal pad resting on her knee. Eliot liked Jean well enough. She’d been classically trained in magic—Europe instead of Brakebills—and though she was even shorter than Margo, she had a commanding presence to her, a confidence Eliot couldn’t quite put his finger on. She also had impeccable taste in sweaters. More importantly, she didn’t approach therapy in the traditional way most did. Usually she just talked to Eliot and had no problem sharing her opinion, though she tried to be tactful about it. Eliot had always assumed that was a huge no-no in the psych community, but he found he didn’t mind it. It often served to help him grease the wheels of processing his own thoughts regarding how he felt about certain things. “Eliot, not that long ago, I would have expected a relapse from you if something like this happened.”

Eliot chuckled, drumming his fingers across his thigh. “Well, we’re still in early days.”

“Yes, but you’re joking. You don’t actually think that’s going to happen, and neither do I.” Eliot conceded her point with a small nod. “Have the two of you talked? About what happened?”

“Not so much,” he admitted. “I mean, I guess I don’t see the point. It’s not like we’re getting back together, and we get along great without talking about it.”

“So, you don’t think you’re doing all this because of the guilt you still feel?”

_ Jesus fuck, Jean,  _ Eliot thought, curling his hand into a fist against his leg. The woman didn’t pull her punches, that was for certain. “I’ve… worked through that. With you. I know it’s not… logical, or whatever. I know what Q did wasn’t my fault.”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between knowing and believing.”

“Fine, but no. I didn’t help him and Kit because I felt like I needed to… make up for something. That’s not how things work, and honestly, it makes me sound like a dick.”

Jean smirked a little at that. “Fair enough. What about your anger, though?”

Eliot wet his lips, managing a nod after a long moment. “It’s… still an issue, but no more than it was before. It’s not like I’m going to go off on him.”

“Eliot.” Jean bumped the pad of paper against her leg for emphasis. “You have every right to feel angry.”

“I can’t agree with that,” he replied, and not for the first time. “It’s fucking selfish, to be angry at someone who was… going through something like that.”

She shook her head. “It’s not about being selfish. You need to accept your feelings, whatever they may be, are completely valid. You were going through a lot at that time, too.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t  _ know  _ that.”

“Okay, but wouldn’t you feel better if you told him now? I’m not saying you get in his face about it; I’m on your side here. He was going through something a lot of people can’t imagine. Having your own brain turn against you is terrifying. I think  _ you  _ would have an easier time moving past it if you let him know the fact he never acknowledged the trauma he put you through  _ hurt you.  _ On top of that, ending your relationship just days after what you’d been through, giving you an ultimatum like that… It wasn’t fair to you.”

“Yeah, but how could I expect him to be thinking about me at the time? He was terrified; I saw that. He probably would have begged anyone to get him out of there. He  _ did.” _

“Yes, but he expected  _ you  _ to be the one to do it for him.” Eliot swallowed against the thickness in his throat, pressing his lips together tightly. “I’m just afraid if you don’t talk about this, you’re going to fall back into old habits.”

“I don’t… Quentin seems a lot better now. I mean, he has a  _ kid.  _ He has to be somewhat better, right? Kit’s a normal fucking kid, for the most part. I don’t think he ever tried to take advantage of me, and I don’t think he’s doing it now.”

“I don’t think he ever tried to, either,” Jean clarified. “But I think he did, all the same.” Eliot sighed, saying nothing. “You’re doing a lot for him now, and I don’t disagree with any of it. I would just like you to be aware of it. Can you do that?”

“Sure thing,” Eliot quipped, smirking when Jean shot him a dirty look. 

The session didn’t get any easier after that, and when Eliot saw the black Camaro parked in front of the hotel after his walk home, he cursed under his breath. Seeing Mike McCormick was the absolute last thing he needed today. 

Forcing the frustration from his expression, Eliot used his enchanted key to enter the lobby and quickly made his way to the dining room. Not only did he find Mike chatting with Margo near the bar, but he also saw Julia and Penny had already arrived. The two of them were seated with Quentin and Kit mere feet from Mike, and Julia had a look of pure venom in her eyes when she looked his way. Christ, did she hold some sort of grudge against Mike, too? He wasn’t even a hedge witch; he’d graduated from Brakebills, just as she had. Quentin was absorbed in helping Kit with something on her tablet—incredibly absorbed, with his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth turned down as he studied the screen. 

“There he is,” Margo said in a sour voice as Eliot approached. She hated Mike and did very little to hide the fact. The man was either too polite or too stupid to acknowledge it, though.

Mike turned towards Eliot with a wide grin, looking like a mid-western professor with his tucked in flannel shirt and corduroy blazer. “Well, lucky me. I was just about to leave.”

Eliot managed to smile. “I wasn’t expecting you today, or I would’ve been here,” he said, with only slightly less charm than usual. 

“It’s fine, I was just in the neighborhood.” He gestured to a canvas tote resting on the bar. “Margo handed over the goods and I went ahead and gave her the books I promised. Hope that’s okay?”

Margo rolled her eyes behind Mike and Eliot tried not to laugh. “Of course, she pretty much runs the place as it is.”

“Great. I was hoping you’d show up, though. We haven’t had the chance to catch up in awhile.”

Julia audibly snorted from her table and Eliot sucked on his teeth, his annoyance growing. “I’d really love to do that, but I actually have plans already. Some spellwork. I’d postpone, but the circumstances and all…”

Mike nodded, reaching to wrap his fingers around Eliot’s wrist. “Always busy,” he teased, leaning in to brush a kiss against Eliot’s jaw. _Fuck, what a mess,_ he thought, witholding a sigh. “It’s fine. Some other time?”

“Of course,” Eliot told him. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Glancing towards Quentin out of some fucked up sense of guilt, he watched him immediately drop his eyes back down to Kit’s tablet, but Julia had a smirk on her face that screamed of some kind of triumph and Eliot was just  _ done.  _ He counted to twenty as Mike walked away, gripping the edge of the bar as he tried to get a handle on his temper, but when Julia noticed her smile only deepened and he lost the battle.

“Okay, what the  _ fuck  _ is your problem?” he demanded. Instantly, Kit and Quentin both looked up with matching sets of wide eyes and even Margo looked quietly shocked. All the hedges in the room also turned, looking at him with varying degrees of confusion.

Quentin shifted Kit from his lap. “I’m, uh, gonna take Kit upstairs, I think,” he said quietly, though Kit looked like she’d very much prefer to stay, her eyes darting between Julia and Eliot curiously.

“No. Q, I’m sorry,” Eliot sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m just tired of being treated like an asshole in my own home, so you and I—” he pointed at Julia, “are taking care of this. Now.” He stepped towards the door beyond the bar, throwing it open with a flick of his fingers and walking outside. If Julia didn’t follow, she could fucking leave. 

Eliot lit a cigarette, and hearing the door shut, he turned to glare at her. “Look, you’re Quentin’s best friend, and I respect that. I don’t want to cause any more shit between you, but I can’t do anything to make this easier when you seem to get off on hating me.”

Julia’s mouth still had an amused tilt to it. “Okay, I’ll play,” she replied, walking past him to lean against the patio table. “How long have you been fucking Mike?”

Eliot nearly choked on the nicotine he’d just inhaled. “What the fuck? I’ve never fucked Mike.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “See? This is why we can’t have this conversation; I knew you’d lie.”

“What the… I  _ haven’t.  _ He drops off things he wants charmed or enchanted, usually stuff that’s not quite on the up-and-up. He pays in books. He flirts a lot, and yes, I flirt back. It keeps him coming back, and it gets books in here I usually can’t find elsewhere.”

“And when did you meet him?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Years ago.”

She put on a show of looking thoughtful. “Maybe around the same time you met Q?”

Eliot thought back and shook his head, not sure why it mattered. “No, it was before that.”

She nodded. “Yeah, and you tell me you have some sort of ‘business relationship,’ but the thing is, Eliot, I  _ saw  _ you with him.”

Eliot froze. “When?”

“Right after I met you. You were in some little bar near campus, all over each other,” she said with a sneer. “I thought you were going to fuck in one of the booths.”

Eliot blinked, trying to recall. He’d gone out with Mike several times around then, but he’d never… “Look. I took a job, to steal something from Mike. I took it before I met Quentin, but Mike was at Brakebills at the time, and it took longer than I thought.”

“What, to seal the deal?” she asked, her voice dripping with bitterness.

“I  _ didn’t fuck him,”  _ Eliot growled. “I walked a fine line, I’ll admit to that, but I barely even kissed him. I didn’t  _ want  _ to, not after I met Quentin. As soon as I finished that job, I told Diana I wasn’t taking any more like that.”

Julia arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “So, you’re telling me you spent all this time seducing him, then  _ stole  _ from him, and now you’re what? Buddies?”

Eliot shrugged. “He was impressed by my abilities. Not the theft, but we’ve learned to laugh about it over the years. He even offered to talk to the dean about allowing me into Brakebills, but I told him not to bother.”

Julia scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not sure I believe that.”

“You know, I don’t care if you do,” he told her, exhaling smoke into the frigid air. “Because the thing is, I don’t think you would have liked  _ anyone  _ Q dated. You saw me with Mike, and even though I know I didn’t do anything incriminating enough for you to actually  _ tell  _ Quentin about it, you chose that as a reason to hate me. You  _ wanted  _ to.”

Julia’s dark eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “Why the hell would I want to hate anyone? Don’t act like you know me, Eliot.”

“But I do,” he argued, “at least where it involves Quentin. You knew how he felt about you.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “And you didn’t feel the same, and that’s fine. It doesn’t always work out, and that’s no one’s fault. That whole time, though, he was safe. Right? It was convenient. He was a little sad, and that sucked, but as long as things didn’t change you thought he’d be okay. If he wasn’t, you knew all the signs to look for, at least in those exact circumstances.” He laughed darkly. “And then I showed up, and I really could have been anyone, but I’m a little more of a trainwreck than most. I’m not saying you wanted Q to pine after you forever—I know you’re not sadistic. Once he stopped, though, you couldn’t predict what would happen. You couldn’t trust him to make his own decisions because you couldn’t know the outcome. I  _ saw  _ that, every time I was around. And after I made it clear I wasn’t going to let you run me off,  _ everything  _ got pinned on me. Every time Quentin was upset, it was somehow my fault. I mean, fuck depression when you have a scapegoat, right?”

“I-I didn’t blame you for—”

_ “The fuck you didn’t,”  _ Eliot nearly shouted, his voice shaking. “What did you say when you got to the hospital that night, Julia?”

Her eyes fell to the ground, patches of red blooming across her face. 

“‘You’ve done enough.’ That’s what you told me.” A wet chuckle escaped him and Eliot tossed his cigarette to the ground, curling his fingers to make it disappear. “Really, I think you were just waiting for Q to do it, because it gave you a reason to force me out. Quentin nearly died and it was my fault and there was no coming back from that, right? Even though I’m the only reason he lived. Either way, you won.”

_ “Fuck you,”  _ Julia snarled. “You’re acting like I wanted it to happen.”

Eliot didn’t answer that, walking towards the stairs that led up to the second floor. “Break the deal tonight if you want, but I won’t be there for it,” he told her. “Kit will be fine either way.”

**Quentin**

  
  


When Julia and Eliot didn’t return, Quentin eventually walked to the window to peer outside. Seeing Julia alone, seated in one of the cold metal chairs of the patio table, he stepped outside to check on her.

“Hey, you should get inside,” he told her, kneeling down on the paving stones to see her face streaked with tears. “Jules, it’s freezing out here. What happened?”

“He basically said I wanted you to kill yourself,” she told him, her voice barely above a whisper. Quentin stared at her in shock, unable to believe Eliot would say anything so cruel. “I mean, I know that’s not what he  _ meant,  _ but just that… it made it easier for me, after you tried. A-And he’s wrong, but he’s not…” Her eyes met his, shining with tears. “I was… waiting. I knew something was going to happen, Q. And he’s right: I blamed him, and it was so easy. He was—he was something I could  _ see.  _ I could never be mad at you for being sick, you know? Or even your brain, because it’s not your fault.” She reached out, her lips trembling as she tucked his hair behind his ear. “But it was  _ hard.  _ You wouldn’t talk to your dad and there was no point in calling your mom. It was just me, or it felt that way. You wouldn’t go to therapy. I was just…” She looked searchingly up at the sky. “It was hard and I guess I took it out on Eliot more than I thought.”

Quentin tried to follow, growing more and more confused. “Jules, are you saying you hated Eliot because I was fucked in the head?”

She laughed through her tears, a weak smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “I mean, a little? Not that he didn’t make it easy. He really was a jerk, Q.”

Quentin shrugged. “I know, but he was going through a lot of shit back then.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t say. A-And I saw him, with Mike, right after you guys started dating. I thought he was cheating on you, but I didn’t have enough proof to talk to you about it. I figured if I did, he could just turn it into something to make me look stupid. I went back there a few times, but I didn’t see them again and it made me so  _ mad.  _ He said it was a job he took for his coven; that nothing happened. I didn’t know that at the time, though. I didn’t know about magic, or hedge witches, or any of it!”

“I know,” he said, placing his hand on her knee, which she hurried to cover with her own. “But… maybe if you’d told me, we could have talked? I mean, maybe not. It involved Eliot’s coven and they had a spell where they couldn’t talk about anything magic-related. It could’e made things worse if I confronted him about it and he literally couldn’t say anything.” He sighed. “There’s no way to know now, but… Jules, my life… it’s never been your responsibility.”

She sniffled loudly, her face crumpling with emotion. “Then who?” she asked. “I’m sorry, Q, but you were kind of shit at taking care of it for a really long time.”

He laughed, tears springing to his own eyes. “I was,” he admitted. “And I could see how it’s hard to move past that, but I’ve been—better, for a long time now.”

She nodded. “I know. I’m not… I don’t mean to ignore that. I really thought I’d let go some, but hearing you were staying here… I think it was just nothing changed for so long, you know? There was nothing to be scared of.” She brought her hands up to wipe at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Q. I just… really fucked up, but I was just trying to protect you.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he told her, standing up from the ground. “I’m pretty aware of everything I’ve put you through. I get it. But maybe Eliot could stand to hear one?”

Julia gave him a wounded look, opening her mouth to argue, but closed it abruptly as her shoulders fell and she sighed. “I… Fine. You’re right.”

“Yeah, I know,” he teased her gently, bumping the toe of his shoe against hers. 

“Don’t get cocky about it,” she warned before sniffling wetly, holding out her hand for him to pull her up. 

“I wouldn’t dare.”

**Eliot**

Eliot was on his second drink and debating if a third was acceptable after the day he’d had or tempting the relapse Jean believed him incapable of, when he heard the chime of the elevator sound through his living room. Assuming it was Margo, he didn’t turn from staring through his balcony doors at the fading light in the sky. 

“Oh, I’m just, like,  _ in  _ here. Great.”

Hearing Julia’s voice, Eliot turned to stare at her over the back of the couch. She’d barely left the elevator, looking around his living area awkwardly. “What are you talking about?” he sighed, looking away from her.

“I just—expected somewhere I could knock, I guess,” she replied, taking slow steps towards him. “And then, you know, you could have ignored me. That would have been nice.”

“Well, people usually know not to come up here without an invitation first,” he said with a scowl, lifting his drink from the end table to drain it. A third was sounding  _ required  _ at the moment. 

“Blame Q,” she told him with a light shrug.

“What, is he asking us to kiss and make up?” he asked, standing from the sofa to walk to the bar for another drink. 

“No, but I told him that while you were a little off-base on some things, you weren’t wrong. He thought maybe you should hear that.”

Eliot set his glass on the counter, trying not to show his surprise. “Okay. Noted.”

“I just… I grew up with Q.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m aware, Julia. No one knows him like you do.”

She sighed. “I’m not… It’s not a competition. All I’m trying to say is I knew him  _ before.  _ I watched him get sick. I was the first person to notice he was cutting himself and I’m the one who had to tell his dad. I was there in the hospital every time he tried to overdose. So, yes. I was braced for something when you came along. You popped pills like candy and you drank like a fish.” Eliot’s mouth pinched itself into a regretful twist. “I was scared for him. And yeah, I also thought you were full of shit. I  _ saw  _ you leave with that guy the night you met Q. It wasn’t exactly a great first impression.”

“Well, I didn’t think he’d actually call,” he admitted sulkily. 

“And you were right about blaming you. That’s on me, but… can’t you see why I thought you were shady? I didn’t know about magic, Eliot. All I knew is you were constantly disappearing and I was the one who had to watch him pace around and check his phone every five minutes. What was I supposed to think? I was mad at him too, for thinking he didn’t deserve the truth from you, for taking whatever you’d give him. He deserved better than that.”

“I know that,” Eliot said, emotion causing his voice to waver.

“On top of all that, you two got so serious, so fast. I thought it was one-sided, and I was so worried Q would end up paying for it when you got bored with him. I’d watch him sit all day, barely speaking, and you’d show up high out of your mind with some flimsy excuse and he'd just act like it was all okay.”

Eliot gripped the glass in his hand, his knuckles white. “My magic kills people, Julia. At the time, that’s how I was dealing with it.”

“I didn’t know that,” she reminded him, “and neither did Quentin.”

“What does it matter now?” he asked her, almost pleading. “You got what you wanted; he left me. Why drag all this out again?”

“Because he was a wreck,” she told him. “If you’d just given him a day or two, instead of jumping in bed with the first—”

_ “No,”  _ he cut her off, raising his voice. “He  _ left  _ me. How I deal with shit is my choice, and I won’t take shit for that.” He shoved the glass aside regretfully, knowing no amount of alcohol would help the situation. “You think I don’t regret that? I don’t even  _ remember  _ it. And then, when I tried to fix it, when I pulled myself together long enough to actually make it to your place… I was going to  _ beg him  _ to just—talk to me. Anything. You were both fucking gone, though, and James was just… I don’t know, a little confused about it? I  _ knew  _ where you were as soon as that stupid little story left his mouth, and if Q had stuck around to tell me, my binding spell wouldn’t have worked anymore. I could have told him  _ everything.  _ I called and I  _ called...  _ and nothing. So, why am I the bad guy for fucking some random guy when he couldn’t even be bothered to tell me good-bye, or even ‘fuck you?’ You come up here to tell me you were wrong, but you’re still fucking blaming me, aren’t you?”

“No,” she told him, her voice huskier than usual. “It’s my fault you couldn’t reach him. I… pressured him into getting rid of our phones. I didn’t want to deal with breaking up with James, and it seemed like the perfect chance to get you out of his life.” Julia at least had the decency to look guilty now. “I’m not sure if it means shit now, but I’m sorry. I… I don’t know your story. I’m not asking for it, but I should have at least considered you had one. We’re… Q and I… we’re not like you. What you see is pretty much what you get with us. I never knew how to take you. You made a joke out of everything or acted like you didn’t care, so I just assumed you were hiding something or you were a giant asshole; usually both.”

Eliot tilted his head, conceding to her point. “Well, both of those things were true most of the time; to most people, anyway. I can’t blame you for that part.”

Her brow suddenly furrowed. “Downstairs… what you said about that night, about being the reason he’s alive…”

“I’m not talking about that,” Eliot snapped, his voice breaking dangerously.

Julia quickly looked away from him, her eyes full of shame. “I just—if that’s true... thank you. I didn’t mean to make things harder for Q. I really didn’t. I promise that’s over. Whatever happens, I know he’s capable of making his own decisions now. He’s shown me that. I know it’s his life, no matter how worried I get. So I can be civil if you can.” She looked at him questioningly. “Is that enough?”

“I... think it’s more than I ever expected,” he admitted with a subtle nod.

“Will you come back downstairs, then? Help us out with this?”

Eliot rolled his eyes, a wry smirk pulling at his lips. “You know nothing’s going to happen. We’ve gone over it half a dozen times.”

Julia nodded, smiling a bit herself. “I know Q will want you there, though.”

Surprised, Eliot cleared his throat. “Well, as long as that doesn’t bother you, I don’t see why not.”

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Broken and Unbreakable**

**Quentin**

Kneeling on the floor of the dining room, Quentin zipped up Kit’s winter coat and wound her Ravenclaw scarf around her neck. Julia had given it as a Christmas gift and though he definitely had opinions regarding the choice (Kit was obviously a Gryffindor), he’d never said anything since Kit liked the colors and knew very little about Harry Potter. “Daddy, you could just cast a spell,” she sulked and complained with a pout, her small body stiff in the puffy coat. “I can’t even move.”

Quentin smiled. “I could, but we’re already going to be shielding you,” he told her, patting the thick sleeves of her blue coat. “Too many spells cast on you at the same time could interfere with your magic.” He’d been worried about Eliot before and relieved when Julia had returned downstairs with him, but now that it was time to actually end the deal he could only focus on Kit. “Remember what to do if anything feels different than before?”

Kit nodded. “Stop and run.”

“Good.” 

Ignoring the curious looks they received from the other coven members (Quentin was sort of dying to know what they thought of him and Kit by this point), the group of them filed outside into the courtyard. The sun had set, but the security light bathed a large part of the space in its artificial glow, and Kit walked to the very edge of that light to stand, turning to look at them expectantly. 

Margo stepped forward, casting the shield charm they’d decided worked best during their practice sessions, enveloping Kit in a brief blue light that settled around her before disappearing. Kit looked at Quentin with raised brows, and he nodded to let her know she was good to go. 

Awkwardly, she knelt down on the ground, her coat making movement more difficult than usual, and everyone stood silent as she began to draw her finger through the dirt. Quentin had watched her do this several times now, and though it had been underwhelming so far, he couldn’t help but expect something more this time. This wasn’t a snack trade-off; this was the last five years of their life.

He knew Kit couldn’t understand how he was feeling, but as she paused after she finished drawing through the dirt, he wished he could see her face. He didn’t know if she was scared or possibly just concentrating, but before he could speak, she knelt forward to place her hand on the ground. Just like their other attempts, there was a faint flash of light, and then… nothing. 

Kit slowly stood up and turned to face them, a faint smile on her face. “It worked,” she announced, her fingers playing at the frayed ends of her scarf. “I felt it work.” 

Quentin left the others to kneel down and pick her up. She didn’t protest, even though she usually argued she was ‘too old’ to be carried, and even surprised him by laying her head against his shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. That one made me tired, though.”

“It did?” He looked at Julia, confused. Kit hadn’t been affected physically at all during the practice runs. 

“Maybe it’s an issue with the proximity?” she postulated as Kit nodded against his shoulder. “All the other deals were made here, right?”

“Or it could be how many parties were involved,” Margo suggested. “She just freed a lot of fairies.”

“Maybe,” Quentin mumbled, concerned. 

“Or it could be how often she’s done it,” Eliot added, after a beat. “It’s not something fairies typically do, right?” His expression softened. “I’m sure she’ll be fine after some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed, taking a moment to better situate the girl in his arms. “I’m gonna get her upstairs. I’ll be down as soon as I can.” 

“No need to hurry,” Eliot assured him, and Quentin lifted his brow in acknowledgment, leaving the courtyard with Kit in his arms. 

“Daddy, it’s too early to go to bed,” she grumbled into his sweatshirt on their way down the hall.

“Yeah, but I think you’re headed for a nap whether you want to or not,” he replied. 

Kit didn’t argue, and even allowed him to remove her coat, scarf and shoes before she climbed into bed minutes later, blinking sleepily at him. “Do you think the queen really knows I did it?” she asked.

Quentin smiled, pulling the blankets up over her. “She said she would, right?” She nodded. “Then, I think she probably does. I’ll be downstairs if you wake up, okay? You can call.”

“Uh-huh.”

Quentin switched the light off, leaving Kit’s room for his own, where he softly closed the door and sank onto the edge of his bed, bending down to absently untie the laces of his boots so he could toe them off and scoot back fully onto the mattress. Without his daughter to concentrate on he had this abrupt and unsettling feeling as if he had been left completely unmoored, like there was something heavy, tightly-wound, and terrifying deep inside of him that suddenly didn’t know where to go . He wanted to go back downstairs and see everyone again, right?. It was time to celebrate, right? The deal was broken. That was amazing. Kit was safe, finally, and that was even better. 

Quentin didn’t move. Instead, a ragged sob tore itself from his throat and he pressed a loose fist against his mouth in surprise, curling in on himself and tipping over onto his side as all the stress and terror and grief of the past five years started to unravel inside him, forcing its way out. All that weight he had carried on his shoulders every day was just—gone. There had been no fanfare, no bright, shining moment to signify the enormity of it all. Kit was going to turn six, then she was going to turn seven, and she was going to be _with_ _him_ for that. He was going to get see her grow up, and when she was ready he was going to take her to school. She was going to make friends, and he was going to teach her magic, and talk to her about her favorite things, and they were going to _fight,_ and one day she’d bring a boy or a girl home, or maybe she’d never bring anybody home and any and all of it was _perfect_ because it was going to _happen._

He wasn’t sure how long he remained laying there, frozen in place by the ferocity of his tears, but eventually they ran dry and Quentin felt… clean, hollowed out. Emotionally he felt better, though physically he felt a little wrecked, his head pounding as he struggled to get his breathing under control. He stood on unsteady legs and walked to the bathroom, where he splashed cool water on his face and pressed a clean towel against his skin, hoping to calm the angry red splotches that remained from his outburst. He was lucky Kit hadn’t heard him. 

Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket, Quentin pulled it out to see a message from Julia, telling him they’d gone up to Eliot’s apartment for drinks. He sent a quick reply and took one last look at his face (not perfect, but he doubted anyone would call him on it) before leaving the room. 

As he stepped out of the elevator on the top floor, Quentin saw Eliot first, since his bar was directly across from the doors, but he found Margo and Julia on the sofa as he turned the corner, and Penny was sprawled in one of the arm chairs, his long arms hanging over the sides. Eliot gave Quentin a small, if tired, smile before returning his attention to measuring out something blue into a glass with a critical eye. It made Quentin wonder exactly how the conversation with Julia had gone, but he didn’t feel he had the right to ask. If Eliot wanted him to know, he’d bring it up.

Julia grinned at him as he walked over to take the seat between her and Margo. He sighed with relief when he saw a mostly full pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, promptly slipping one out and lighting it quickly. He was pretty sure he owed Eliot a carton by this point. 

“So, she did it,” Julia said, bumping her shoulder against his. 

“Uh, yeah,” he replied with a nod. “I… It’s gonna take a while to completely process it? I think?”

Penny laughed. “Right, like we don’t all know you spent the last half hour crying about it,” he announced, but the fond smirk on his face made it hard for Quentin to dredge up any anger over it. 

“Oh, are we gonna talk about how you held your breath the entire time we were outside, too?” Margo asked him, her eyes sparkling mischievously as she sipped at what Quentin assumed was champagne. Penny only rolled his eyes, the smile never leaving his face.

“I think we’re all relieved and it doesn’t matter how we show it,” Julia stated, slapping a hand on Quentin’s knee. “Now, if we can just get the McAllisters to back off, we’re home free.”

Quentin raised his hand hesitantly. “There’s, um, the thing with Alice, too.”

“Shit, I forgot about that,” Penny admitted. “I’m not sure  _ how.” _

“Was there anything in the books I left?” Julia asked.

Quentin shrugged, flicking at the filter of his cigarette with his thumb. “Nothing we could use, but I sort of had an idea.” He looked towards Penny. “Could you incept Kit?”

Penny blinked, his brow rising. “Uh… I mean, yeah, but I don’t know how comfortable I’d be with that. She’s a kid.”

“I know, but… I wish there was some kind of alarm or something we could set, so we’d know if Kit was dreaming about her.”

Eliot brought a tray of drinks to the coffee table, all of them a pale blue with sugar coated around the rims of the glasses. He took one for himself before settling into the other armchair and crossing his legs, a thoughtful purse to his lips. “What about Carlion’s Web?” he suggested. “Could it be tweaked for that?”

Julia took her own drink from the tray, as did Quentin, who cursed quietly under his breath as he tasted it, deeply impressed. “Probably,” she spoke. “You mean for dreaming instead of a psychic event?” Eliot nodded. “It’d probably be easy, but we’d need a second spell to alert for a specific type of dream and I’m not sure how that would work. Dreams don’t emit a specific kind of magical energy.”

“No, that only affects the dreamer,” Margo agreed, tapping a fingernail against her champagne flute. “But if Alice is really visiting Kit’s dreams, that’s more of a psychic event than a dream, because Alice  _ exists.”  _

Quentin looked at her in alarm. “You think she’s projecting to wherever Alice is?”

“Fuck,” Penny groaned.

“It’s possible,” Julia said in a low voice. “We don’t know everything niffins are capable of. Or Kit. Alice could have some way of forcing her to astrally project, or at least calling to her.”

“Christ,” Quentin sighed, taking a hefty drink from the glass in his hand. “Okay, so can we try that first spell? The web?”

“Yeah, we can cast it around her bed,” Eliot told him. “It’s cooperative. It’s usually done to alert the target if there’s been an event after it happens, but we could definitely change that, no issue. I know a little mental alarm spell we can work into it.”

“Okay, and then I can let you know?” Quentin asked Penny.

“Yeah, I can incept her, but then what? Do I politely ask Alice, a  _ niffin,  _ to fuck off?”

Quentin sighed raggedly. “I wish there was some way  _ I  _ could go. There’s no spell to allow you to travel with people that way?”

“None that I’ve seen,” Penny replied. 

There was a long moment of silence before Eliot set his drink aside. “I might have something.” He looked incredibly uncomfortable. “And before I bring it out here, if  _ any  _ of you breathe a word about it… well, either myself or one of you will most likely be killed.”

Before anyone could respond, Eliot left the room, and Quentin watched him walk past the kitchen and into the shadows. Hearing a door open and shut, he soon returned with a thick, leather-bound book in his hands, which he placed next to the tray on the table. 

“Holy  _ shit,”  _ Julia exclaimed, shifting in her seat as she looked over the faded gold words painted across the cover. “Eliot, is that  _ real?” _

“It’s not the original,” he told her. “It  _ is _ a very well-made copy. Things like this are why I flirt with Mike.”

Quentin looked at the cover in confusion, the title reading  _ Compendium Viator.  _ Traveler. “Is this book, like, rare or something?” he asked.

“It’s damn near a myth,” Julia told him, still staring at it in awe. “That looks old for a copy.”

Eliot shrugged. “Mike said his analysts estimated it was written around the mid 1700s.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Only when his team found the original,” he admitted with an arched brow, looking smug as hell.

“Jesus, what does he do for a living? Someone has the original Traveler’s Compendium and no one knows?”

“It’s a fucked up mix of archaeology and government work,” Margo explained. “I don’t ask because he gets more boring than usual when you bring it up.”

“And a lot of things they uncover aren’t ever revealed to the magical community at large,” Eliot added. “This book… Back when it was written, Travelers were still classified as more creature than human. Putting this back out into the world could cause… tension.”

“Wait, that sounds like a Traveler didn’t write it,” Quentin said, confused.

“Exactly,” Eliot replied. “It was more, um, experimental? It’s a disturbing read, but there’s a lot of information in it.” He looked at Penny. “It can’t leave this floor, though. If you want to pop in anytime to take a look, I don’t mind. Just don’t bring it downstairs.” He frowned. “Or mention it outside this room, actually.”

Penny nodded, standing to lift the tome from the table and return to his chair with it. Upon opening it, he cursed. “I fucking hate Latin.”

While Penny flipped through the book, trying to find passages on astral projection, the rest of them focused on drinking, and by the time the Traveler announced he’d found something, Quentin was well on his way to sloshed from Eliot’s boozy lemonade mixture. 

“It’s just another tattoo,” he told them, placing the book on the table and turning it so they could all see the illustrations. The tattoos Penny already had across his fingers were displayed on the page, except two of them had a small addition of another circle added to them. 

“So, it’s just a minor change in the circumstances,” Julia mumbled. “We can easily do this.”

“I can call Kady up to do it now, if you want,” Eliot offered. “And we can cast the web on Kit’s bed tomorrow.”

Penny agreed, and Kady came upstairs with her kit not long after that, taking Margo’s seat on the sofa to apply the additional ink to Penny’s fingers, occasionally glancing at the book for reference. Margo seated herself in Eliot’s lap since nothing else was available, combing her fingers through his hair until he looked like he might fall asleep. 

Quentin felt tired too, leaning against Julia as he sipped at the last of his third drink. His phone said it was just past six-thirty, but he was exhausted and more relaxed than he’d felt in ages. 

“I think we’re gonna head out after this,” Julia told him, setting her empty glass aside. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m feeling pretty great,” he told her, unable to stop himself from grinning.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re wasted.”

“Not quite, but… it’s nice. I just hope Kit doesn’t wake up.”

“Well, you have people here if she does. I don’t think Eliot’s tolerance is as non-existent as yours.”

Hearing his name, Eliot glanced over, catching Quentin’s eye with an amused smile. “I’m barely even tipsy,” he told Julia. “She’ll be fine.”

“And you need to start meditating,” Penny spoke up over the buzz of the tattoo gun, his eyes fixed on Quentin. “If I’m taking you, I don’t want you freaking out on me.”

Margo smirked slyly. “I may have something to assist with that.”

Kady finished up and Penny and Eliot both thanked her. “Yeah, well I should probably get back downstairs,” she said. “The twins are at it, and Todd’s too fucking nervous to get between them.”

“Do I need to intervene?” Eliot asked.

“Nah, I’ll handle it.”

“That usually comes with a repair bill,” Margo said, though not unkindly. She pressed a kiss to Eliot’s temple and left his lap. “I’ll come with you.” She stopped on her way out of the room, looking between Penny and Julia. “‘Bye, I guess, since we’re getting along?”

Julia cracked a grin. “Yeah, I guess.”

Once Margo and Kady were gone, Julia stood and pulled Quentin up for a hug. He sank into it gratefully, relieved to no longer be angry with her, though he hoped she really would allow him to live his own life from now on. Only time would tell. “We’ll figure this out too,” she promised, “with Alice.”

“I know.” He pulled away to smile at her. “Keep an eye on Irene?”

“Oh, you know it,” she replied. “I’ll let you know anything I hear.”

“Thanks,” he said as Penny joined Julia at her side and she took his hand. 

“I’m serious about meditating,” he told Quentin. “Get your shit together.”

“Yeah, totally,” Quentin said with a nod, though he wasn’t really sure how he was going to accomplish it. He’d never been able to clear his mind, not entirely. 

Julia and Penny blinked out of existence and Quentin looked over at Eliot, whose curls had been combed into gentler waves by Margo’s fingers. He looked wrung out but the subtle smile on his face was peaceful enough. 

“Need help cleaning up?” Quentin asked, looking at the array of glasses strewn across the coffee table.

“Think you have the coordination for that at the moment?” Eliot teased. “It’s fine, Q. It’ll only take a minute.” His eyes turned hesitant. “Are you really okay, though?”

“Um. Yeah, I think so. It just hit me kind of hard earlier. It’ll probably happen again,” he laughed. “It’s just—weird. Worrying about it took up so much space, and it’s just gone now. I know I should still be worried about the McAllisters, but…”

“I think you can take a minute to relax,” Eliot told him. “There’s no way they’re getting in this hotel, and while that doesn’t solve all our problems, it certainly doesn’t hurt. We’ll focus on getting this Alice thing figured out, and maybe you can actually take some more time to study for yourself.”

“That’d be nice,” he admitted. “I should probably check on Kit, though, and you look pretty tired, so…”

Eliot’s smile turned teasing. “Thanks so much.”

Quentin laughed quietly as he stood from the sofa. “I’m just saying, I think you’ve had enough of being involved in my drama for one day. Especially since you had to deal with Julia.”

Eliot frowned, standing to escort Quentin to the elevator doors. “Oh, today included plenty of my own drama,” he replied, “but I think things will be more civil between us.”

Quentin stopped, turning to study Eliot’s face. “You didn’t… I know it’s none of my business, but I hope she apologized. If she tried making you feel, like, guilty for—”

“We’re fine,” Eliot interrupted. “I’m not saying it was a fun chat, but she did apologize for her part. You don’t have to worry.”

Quentin nodded jerkily, and before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around Eliot, pressing his brow against the other man’s chest. Eliot froze and Quentin immediately cursed himself for the impulse, but after a moment he felt Eliot relax against him and the press of his hands at the small of his back, pulling him closer. 

“Sorry,” Quentin mumbled. “It’s just… Thanks.”

Eliot laughed softly against him. “For what?”

“Just—everything? You didn’t have to help, Eliot. God knows I don’t deserve it.”

“Q…”

“I’m serious. Besides that, you never had to, like, talk to me about stuff. Or try to make things right with Jules. I’m pretty sure your life was a lot less complicated before Kady dragged me in here.”

Eliot hummed in amusement, and Quentin’s eye drifted shut when he felt Eliot’s long fingers cradling the back of his head. “Maybe I was bored,” he mused.

Quentin laughed, even as every part of him wanted to press his head into those fingers, wanted to encourage them to curl into his hair. He was in a dangerous position, and if he made a single wrong move he knew he might try something disastrous. “I… Well, I hope I cured that for you, at least.”

Reluctantly, Quentin stepped back, keeping his eyes trained on the swirling pattern of Eliot’s waistcoat until there was enough distance to quiet the temptation to just—throw himself forward. “I… I should go. Kit could wake up.”

“Yeah… Let me know if she does? You’re pretty drunk.”

He nodded, unable to meet Eliot’s gaze. “Yeah. I will. ‘Night, El.”

  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope everyone is okay after whatever THAT was yesterday. With everything going on, I'm super thankful I've got some chapters in the bank for posting weekly because I have been way too stressed to write. I'm going to try to get some more ready, however, because I'm having surgery next month and I'm not sure how I'll be feeling afterwards. So if I miss any updates, I'll be blaming that. As always, thanks to my savior of a friend and beta AutumnEnnui for making sure my chapters are not a garbage fire before I post them. I know you guys are getting frustrated with this super slow burn, but there's just a little longer to wait. :)

**Pangs**

**Quentin**

Quentin grunted when he was pulled from sleep the following morning by an incessant buzzing within his room. Blinking in confusion, it took him a moment to realize it was his cell phone vibrating against the nightstand. 

Sighing, he rolled over to see Julia’s name on the screen and then went from drowsy to wide awake when he saw the time. How the hell had he slept until nearly ten in the morning? Where was Kit?

Cringing at the ache in his skull, Quentin ignored the phone for the moment and opened the door to Kit’s room. Finding the bed empty and his daughter’s discarded pajamas on the floor, he sighed and went to call Julia back. 

She answered on the first ring. “Q? I’ve been calling for an hour.”

“Sorry, I just woke up,” he told her, pulling a disgusted face when he realized how dry his mouth was. “Trying to find my kid.”

“She’s lost?” She didn’t sound all that concerned, and Quentin truly wasn’t, either. He just wondered how long Kit had been with either Margo or Eliot and if she’d woken one of them up. 

Hearing a thud from down the hall, followed by Kit’s laughter, Quentin rolled his eyes. “I just heard her. She’s probably with El and Margo. What’s up, though?” 

Julia was silent for a moment. “There was an emergency faculty meeting this morning, before classes. Most of the McAllisters are dead, Q.”

Quentin froze, nearly dropping the phone to the floor. “What… How?”

“Fogg said they were murdered. It happened at three of their houses. Only Edwin and Irene survived; neither of them were home.”

“Does… Did they say anything about the fairies?”

“No, of course not. No one on the board has spoken to Irene yet. The murders are on the _news._ She’s not going to admit they’ve been keeping fairies once she does contact the board, though.”

“Jesus,” Quentin whispered, pushing his hair back from his face, his hand resting on top of his head. “Okay, will you keep me updated?”

“Yeah, I just wanted you to know in case they retaliate. I know they have no way of knowing you were involved, but—”

“They know Kit could see them,” Quentin finished. “It’s the only two dots they’ve got to connect. Thanks, Jules.”

Ending the call, Quentin sent a quick group text to Eliot and Margo, filling them in and asking them not to alert Kit. He was going through his dresser for something to wear when a knock sounded on the door. “Yeah,” he called distractedly

Eliot entered, and Quentin immediately realized he probably should’ve told him to wait a second as he watched the man’s eyes flicker over his nearly naked form. After last night, he definitely didn’t need the added confusion of trying to analyze Eliot’s gaze. 

He looked away quickly, though, leaning against the door with a nonchalance so practiced it nearly made Quentin snort with laughter, like he walked in on Quentin getting dressed every day. “So, what the fuck happened? Do we know?”

“No, I haven’t checked the news or anything yet.”

Eliot lifted the phone in his hand and began typing while Quentin hurriedly shoved his feet into a pair of jeans before he started hunting down a shirt to throw on. He needed a shower, but starting the day so late and hearing _that_ from Julia was definitely putting the issue of getting clean on the back burner for the moment. 

“Jesus,” Eliot muttered, scrolling on his phone. “Apparently Wendell and Vincent McAllister were murdered in their homes, along with their wives and Wendell’s two adult children. Vincent’s son survived; he’s away at college. Portia McAllister was also reported dead by her housekeeper this morning. There are no details yet.” He sighed, pocketing the device. “Well, I can’t say they didn’t deserve it, but…” He shook his head, obviously disturbed.

Quentin pulled a shirt over his head, wrangling his arms into the sleeves. “Yeah. Julia’s going to let me know if she hears anything else.”

“Maybe this will make them back off,” Eliot suggested, crossing his arms as Quentin stepped past him to enter the bathroom. He didn’t have time for a shower, but he was at least going to brush his damn teeth. 

“Or piss them off more,” Quentin countered. Eliot was silent as he brushed his teeth, and it seemed like he was waiting for something, though Quentin had no idea what it could be. Rinsing his toothbrush, he put it away and tied his hair back for the day. “Uh, thanks for watching Kit. She wasn’t any trouble, was she?”

“Not at all,” Eliot assured him. “She hasn’t been up that long, but she’s had breakfast. I’ve uh… got everything finalized for the apartment, if you’re feeling up to walking through it with me? I know it’s probably shitty timing.”

_There it is,_ Quentin thought, suppressing a smile. “Sure. You know I’m fine with whatever though, right?”

Eliot rolled his eyes, stepping away from the door to open it, and gesturing for Quentin to pass through. “So, I’m going to put windows through here,” he began, waving his hand towards the outer wall of the hallway. “I figured leaving your rooms as they are, you’ll still just have the one window, but if you open your door you can get some light, and so can Kit.” Passing their rooms, he continued down the hall where the other four rooms of the floor were located, and he glimpsed Kit and Margo near the elevator.

Kit beamed at him, her hair up in high pigtails. “Daddy, do you have a hangover? Margo said you would.”

Quentin rolled his eyes at Margo. “Not too bad,” he informed his daughter, fairly sure she had no idea what a hangover was. Margo smirked at him, but the expression didn’t quite meet her eyes. She’d obviously read his text too. 

Eliot went through his plans to demo three of the four rooms to create an open living room and kitchen, which was entirely too much space for Quentin to have any idea what to do with, but he nodded along agreeably.

“I figured the room near the stairs could be your office,” Eliot told him. “It gets the most natural light.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he replied. 

“Daddy, will you look at all the stuff I saved for my room?” Kit asked, holding her tablet out towards him. 

Margo chuckled, sweeping Kit’s long bangs out of her eyes. “I’m going to head downstairs. I’ve got a grocery list to get together for next week and make sure Todd’s free to go get it.”

With Margo gone, Kit followed along with Eliot as he led them into the smallest room on the floor, just past the stairs. Quentin had never been in the other rooms and found the windows that looked down into the courtyard appealing. Looking around, he could see himself working in the space. Quentin took Kit’s tablet to scroll through all the colors and items she’d chosen for her bedroom as Eliot walked him through the space, talking about tearing out the small bathroom and adding the built-in shelves he’d argued over with Margo.

“Uh, what about the rest of it?” Quentin couldn’t help but ask, passing the tablet back to his daughter. “It looks great,” he told her sincerely, though there’d been so much green involved he wasn’t sure she’d be able to tell the walls from the bed. Kit grinned up at him, pleased with the praise.

“You mean the living room?” Eliot asked, following Quentin back into the hall. 

“Yeah,” Quentin replied, looking around. “It’s… a _lot_ of space, El.”

“Well, we could keep that room, if you want a third?” he suggested, pointing towards the lone room past the elevator doors. “That’s what I did, except it obviously won’t be the same layout. I also have a massive closet, though.” Looking over Quentin’s clothing, he smirked teasingly. “I don’t think you’ll be needing that.”

Quentin narrowed his eyes at him. “You don’t know how many hoodies I have.”

“Actually, I do. I packed them, remember?”

Quentin stuck his tongue out and Eliot laughed.

Kit sighed loudly. “I’m bored. I’m gonna go downstairs.”

“Okay,” Quentin told her. “Just—”

But Kit disappeared before he could get another word out. 

Quentin blinked, his eyes darting around as his brain tried to form an explanation, but Kit was just… _gone._ “What the…” he trailed off, feeling the first familiar beginnings of panic begin to flare within his brain. What if the McAllisters had figured out a way past the wards? What if the fairy queen had done something to Kit when they’d been alone, something that had enabled her to summon Kit at will? What if...

Eliot turned, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Where’d she…”

“She just—”

Quentin’s knees buckled, and he felt Eliot’s hands grip his arms tightly as he collapsed. Fortunately, the wall that framed the stairwell caught him before he fell on his ass with Eliot on top of him, but the abrupt movement did cause him to stagger closer to Quentin. 

“Q?” he asked, looking down with wide-eyed concern.

“I… That happened, right?” 

“Uh. Yeah? I don’t…” He watched Eliot’s eyes dart over his face, his lips pressing together and his Adam's apple bobbing as his hands loosened on Quentin’s arms. Quentin thought he felt the faint touch of Eliot’s thumbs tracing through the thick fabric of his hoodie. “Are you okay? We can go look for her, as long as you’re not gonna pass out or something.”

“I’m...” He wet his lips, concern for his daughter clashing with a sudden bolt of heat as he watched Eliot’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue. “I’m okay. Just…” Christ, what the fuck was happening?

“Daddy!” 

Eliot jerked away from him suddenly, turning, and Quentin took a ragged breath before stepping away from the wall to find his daughter grinning up at him breathlessly. 

He rushed towards her, kneeling down too quickly and sliding his knee against the floor in a way he knew was going to hurt later. “Kit, what happened?”

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed, though she looked thrilled about it. “I wanted to see Margo and then I was right there! She said a lot of bad words really loud.”

_Oh my God, she’s traveling,_ he thought, those tiny flares of panic multiplying rapidly in number. The queen. She’d said something, hadn’t she? Something about unlocking Kit’s other ‘abilities.’ What else could she do now? 

“Q, I’m gonna…” Turning, Quentin saw Eliot gesturing towards the elevator, his eyes a bit wider than usual.

“Yeah. Sure. I’m just gonna… deal with this. I guess.”

Eliot nodded, his expression tight as he disappeared behind the steel doors.

**Eliot**

_What the fuck were you thinking,_ Eliot berated himself as he stepped into his apartment, angrily shrugging out of his vest once he reached his bedroom, his fingers trembling as he undid the buttons of his shirt. Quentin had been startled, worried about his daughter, and Eliot had taken one look at those wide brown eyes and parted lips and had nearly thrown him against the wall and attacked him. He’d almost done the same the night before, when Quentin had hugged him so tightly, drunk and warm and _perfect_ in his arms. 

He needed a goddamned distraction before he did something stupid.

Eliot walked naked across the space to the bathroom, closing the door and running the shower until the room began filling with steam. Stepping under the spray, he closed his eyes but could only see Quentin’s face, feel the warm bursts of breath against his neck.

_Fuck._

Knowing it was a terrible idea, knowing it wouldn’t help and stood every chance of making things worse, Eliot trailed his hand down his chest and stomach, slowly curling his fingers around the base of his dick. He leaned forward, resting his head against the shower wall, the hot water cascading down his back as he moved his hips, feeling himself quickly growing harder within his hand as he moved 

He thought of Quentin’s mouth, the curve of his lips, and allowed himself to remember the way he used to look up at Eliot through those long lashes of his, eyes hungry just before Eliot would push his cock between those waiting lips. He'd loved it so much when Eliot had fucked his mouth, holding him by the roots of his hair and his throat, his face flushing beautifully before Eliot would draw back to allow him a moment to breathe. The punched out breaths he’d made when they’d fucked, his hands scrabbling to hold onto any part of Eliot he could reach, leaving colorful bruises in their wake. The way he’d whined, shameless, any time Eliot had teased him, whispering in his ear how he loved his pretty little cock, delighting in the way he would shiver.

He remembered all the ways Quentin had surprised him, even on their first night together, when he’d scrambled to straddle Eliot’s lap, shy one moment and brazen the next, practically ripping Eliot’s shirt in his hurry to remove it. He remembered the feel of Quentin’s hips in his hands, the graceful arch of his back, the perfectly round curve of his ass...

His cock painfully hard and pulsing, Eliot hissed through his teeth as he came, spilling over his hand and onto the shower tiles. He leaned hard against the wall to catch his breath, already regretting what he’d done. 

“Jesus,” he whispered, stepping back to stare hopelessly up at the ceiling, the water striking his chest. Feeling pathetic, he lowered his head under the hot water.

As he washed, more memories flooded Eliot’s thoughts, much against his will. How he’d trembled with relief each time Quentin had embraced him after days of no contact, thankful to see him instead of angry. The way Quentin had always woken him up with a cup of coffee in hand, knowing he usually woke up surly, and how he’d never initiated conversation until Eliot had finished the coffee and at least one cigarette.

Tears springing to his eyes, Eliot remembered how Quentin had been the first to say ‘I love you,’ and how shy he’d looked after stating it so bravely. He remembered how he’d humiliated himself by bursting into tears and had hidden under the blankets of Quentin’s bed, laughing when Quentin had burrowed in next to him, kissing his face until it was dry again. 

Eliot knew—he _knew_ he couldn’t have that again. They’d been boys then, willing to ignore or deny the problems between them until they’d grown too great and had torn them apart. The truth was, Eliot was shit at caring for anyone but himself, and Quentin deserved... everything. 

Knowing didn’t make it hurt any less, and as Eliot dressed he made a decision: he was in need of a distraction. Nothing was going to quiet the ache he felt around Quentin, but he needed to at least take the edge off. It would also serve to remind him of what he could have, and that he’d always enjoyed it. 

Once he arrived in the lobby, Eliot unlocked his phone and found the last texts he’d sent to Mason, the date he’d last cancelled. The fairy deal was broken now and Kit and Quentin were safe behind the wards of the hotel. There was no reason Eliot couldn’t spend a night outside the hotel now, was there? 

Eliot typed out a message on his way to the dining room, glancing up every few seconds to make sure he didn’t walk into a wall. He kept it short, telling the man his “family emergency” was taken care of and asking if he was still free to go out some time.

He was surprised when his phone chimed before he even reached Margo in the rear of the room. Opening it, he saw a brief response: _“How’s tonight?”_

Eliot wet his lips anxiously, his thumbs hesitating over the on-screen keyboard. Before he could talk himself out of it, he replied. _“Perfect. Tell me where to meet you and I’ll be there.”_

Putting his phone away, Eliot slipped into the chair next to Margo, watching her copying something from a thin book. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Just getting down the last few pieces of this spell. I sent Quentin to storage to get what we need for it.”

“The niffin alarm?” he asked.

She nodded. 

“Does Quentin even know where storage is?” he asked doubtfully.

Margo grinned. “I sent him with Todd.”

“Sadist,” he replied with a smile. “You don’t need me for that, right?”

She looked at him questioningly, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. “Not technically. It only takes two to cast. Where will you be?”

Eliot braced himself. “I have a date.”

Margo’s eyebrows rose, her lips pulling down into an impressive pout. It only lasted a moment before she lost control of it, a crack of a laugh escaping her. 

Eliot frowned at her in disappointment. “Bambi.”

“Hmm?” She was shaking with silent laughter, trying to contain herself as her face turned red. “Sorry, El. I just… How stupid are you?”

“What’s stupid about it?” he asked, defensive. “I haven’t been out since…”

“Oh, I know exactly the last time you ‘went out,’” she told him, her voice shaking in her amusement. “Fine. I hope you have fun.”

He glared at her, knowing he looked as tired as he felt. “Why don’t I believe that?” Before she could answer, Eliot left the table to find something useful to do with someone less judgmental.

**Quentin**

Gathering supplies for the alarm spell with Todd was an experience. While Quentin knew it was probably a good idea to know where everything was kept, he wasn’t sure he’d needed a complete run-down on the organizational system of everything they kept in storage for the hotel, which hadn’t just included the magical correspondences. Quentin had been shown the cleaning supplies, the office supplies, and some pretty serious medical supplies. He was feeling a bit mentally wrung out by the time he returned to the dining room. Kit was still playing a game on the sofa and hadn’t disappeared anywhere (for the moment), so Quentin joined Margo with the canvas tote he’d taken with him, now full of candles, a jar of seawater, and several small jars of herbs. 

“What’s that?” he asked, taking a seat across from her as Margo looked seriously over a loose sheet of paper.

“Just the grocery list,” she replied, reaching for a pen and adding something to the bottom of it. “Todd finally got it in front of Eliot.” She looked up at him. “Kit doesn’t have any food allergies, right? Because this thing is already a nightmare.”

“No,” Quentin told her. “Just asthma.”

“Good. What’s her favorite, though? You didn’t say before.”

“Uh, she goes a little nuts over pecan pie, but she’s not super picky.”

“That’s already on the list,” she told him, looking pleased. 

Margo sent Todd off to the store soon after that, and Quentin took the opportunity to study, glancing up often to check on Kit or when he heard Eliot speaking to someone nearby. He noticed Eliot didn’t stop by their table, but he figured the man probably felt guilty for neglecting his other hedges so often while they’d dealt with the fairy deal. After the intense moment they’d shared upstairs, Quentin was relieved to have some distance, as a part of him almost believed Eliot had come close to kissing him, which was ridiculous. _I’m just tired,_ he told himself, focusing on the text in front of him, _not to mention I was totally freaking out._ Eliot had been so supportive, and Quentin’s overworked brain was probably just jumping to conclusions. It made sense that the idea of it was still lodged in his thoughts, since he’d been so tempted to kiss Eliot the night before. His hindbrain would get the message at some point when nothing further happened. 

The day passed uneventfully. Quentin finished reading up on transfiguration, which factored heavily into the spells he’d need to cast to pass his next level, and Kady had dragged him out to the courtyard for an hour’s practice with battle magic. Todd eventually arrived back at the hotel with a car full of groceries, which several people helped him pack into the kitchen. 

Quentin also received multiple short updates from Julia regarding the McAllisters throughout the day. Not only known in magical circles, it seemed local news stations had several theories, from a soured business relationship (Wendell had been some sort of corporate attorney) to a mob hit. According to Julia, the board had sent one of their trusted psychics to the crime scenes, hoping to glean more details and so far, the police were clueless, having never seen such a bloody mess without a single fingerprint left behind.

With Eliot busy, Margo ordered an early dinner for the four of them, and Kit sat in Quentin’s lap to take bites of her cheesy rice while also helping herself to his chicken burrito bowl. Eliot didn’t even join them to eat, his own food growing cold at their table while he sat with a guy Quentin was pretty sure was related to Kady in some way, going over an intricate set of tuts with him and correcting his positioning after each attempt.

It was nearly six by the time Eliot did approach the table, resting a hand on Margo’s shoulder as he looked at Quentin. “Did you find everything for the spell?” 

“Yeah, Todd was super helpful,” he replied in a dry tone. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Margo said, looking up to catch Eliot’s eye. “We’ve got it covered. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” 

There was a teasing lilt to Margo’s voice that confused Quentin, and his confusion only grew as he watched Eliot give her an annoyed look. “I’m headed upstairs now. If anything goes wrong—”

“I won’t call, because I’m perfectly capable of handling shit on my own,” Margo cut him off, laughing. “Have fun,” she sang.

Eliot rolled his eyes at her before waving his fingers at Quentin and Kit. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he bade them without explanation, turning to leave the room.

“Where’s he going? Bed?” Kit asked, still picking at the last crumbs of their bag of tortilla chips, her feet swinging in her chair. 

Margo snickered at the innocent nature of the question, resting her chin on her folded hands as she gave Quentin a very pointed look. “No. Eliot has a _date.”_

Quentin was too startled by the statement to hide his surprise and Margo grinned victoriously as he tried to amend his expression into something suitably neutral. “Oh. Um. That’s—I guess that makes sense?” he tried. “I mean, we dealt with the queen and all, so he should… totally feel free to do, like, whatever.” Drumming his fingers on the table, Quentin went silent, knowing there was no coming back from the mess his runaway mouth had just made. Margo’s eyes danced with evil glee.

Kit’s brow wrinkled beneath her bangs. “Wait, like a boyfriend-girlfriend date?” she asked.

“That’s right,” Margo told her.

“But I thought _you_ were his girlfriend.”

It was Quentin’s turn to laugh, but Margo barely glanced at him. “No, honey. I don’t do boyfriends.”

Kit’s frown deepened. “But you’re always kissing and touching each other.”

“That’s because we love each other, but we’re just friends. Eliot prefers to kiss boys.” She shot Quentin a worried look at that, clearly wondering if she’d overstepped, but Quentin only shrugged in response. Kit had never expressed any interest in relationships before, but he definitely wasn’t going to have her thinking heterosexuality was the only way they happened. 

“Oh,” Kit said quietly, looking thoughtful as she grabbed for another chip. “Okay.”

**Kit**

Kit impatiently finished the chip fragments worth eating from the paper bag while deep in thought, glancing between her father and Margo as she tried to invent a reason worthy of leaving the room on her own. Unlocking her tablet, the battery display gave her an idea. 

“Daddy, I need to go get my charger,” she announced, making sure to lock the screen again before slipping out of her chair. 

He rested his book on the table. “I can run up and get it for you.”

“I can do it,” she told him. “I can work the elevator and I know to watch for the doors.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Margo’s tone was mocking and her mouth was curled into a matching smirk. “But if you wait a few, we’re headed up to your room anyway.”

“It’s okay. It’s almost dead,” she lied. “I’ll be right back.”

Before either of them could argue, Kit walked quickly out of the dining room. She was nearly to the lobby when she looked over her shoulder, and when she saw no one was watching she grinned to herself, thinking of Eliot.

Instantly, Kit found herself in a room with soft gray walls and a dark sofa. 

“Jesus _Christ,”_ Eliot barked, and Kit turned to see him standing on the other side of the room, his eyes wide and startled. His shirt was open with a tie hanging from his neck, and he was holding a glass of what looked like iced tea. 

“Hi,” she greeted him, walking around to take a seat on the long sofa. 

“Uh. Hi?” he replied, resting his glass on the counter next to him, where there were several bottles the same color as his drink. “What are you doing here?”

“Margo said you’re going on a date.”

“Okay.” Eliot’s hands began moving to button his shirt. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” he replied. “Why?”

Kit shrugged. “I wondered if it was somewhere really fun and that’s why you’re leaving. We haven’t done anything really fun since we started hiding here, but I bet we could now.”

“Bored?” Eliot asked her with a soft smile.

“No, I like it here. I thought maybe _you_ were bored.”

“Sweetie, life hasn’t exactly been boring since I met you,” he told her, finishing with his shirt and taking a drink from the glass. 

“Then why are you going?” she asked. 

“Because I want to,” Eliot told her, laughing softly. “Someone asked me and I said yes. What’s this about, anyway?” He started folding the ends of his tie over each other, something she’d seen her dad do once before. 

“I just don’t know why you’re going on a date with someone else when you like my daddy.”

Eliot went very still, looking up from his tie with a strange expression. “I mean, I know you like him,” she went on. “I knew that, but Margo said you like boys instead of girls. So, you _really_ like him. It’s why you’re always looking at him and making sure he’s okay when his brain is all bad. Why don’t you just tell him so you can hold hands and stuff?”

A weird little laugh left Eliot, and Kit thought he looked afraid of something, though she wasn’t sure. “Look, darling. You’re obviously wise beyond your years, but why would you encourage something like that when you don’t even know who your dad likes? You had a mom, you know. You shouldn’t be trying to set him up with boys.”

Kit rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “Daddy likes boys, too. I’ve heard him say stuff, when he’s talking to Aunt Jules. Especially when they watch those dumb Avenger movies.” She shrugged. “He thinks I don’t know what he’s talking about. And I think he likes you, too,” she continued. “He looks at you a lot, and he lets you stay with him when he’s mad or sad about something. He usually wants to be left alone when he’s like that. He smiles a lot when you’re around, too. Way more than he did before we got here.”

Eliot sighed, a sad look on his face. “Kit… I’m going to tell you something, okay? I think you can handle it.” She nodded as he knelt down next to her. “A long time ago, your dad _was_ my boyfriend, okay? Before you were born, or he met your mom.”

Kit’s brow furrowed deeply, the unexpected information throwing her for a loop. “But you’re not now.”

“No. We’re not.”

“What happened? Did you have a fight?”

Eliot smiled at her, but he didn’t look happy at all. “I… In a way, I guess. And we’re okay now, but we’re not going to be boyfriends again.”

“But why, if you like each other?” She _knew_ they liked each other. Margo had given her the little piece that hadn’t fit before, that was all. 

“Liking each other doesn’t mean _good_ for each other,” he told her. “Happily ever after doesn’t happen for everyone. Some people don’t even want that.”

“Daddy does,” she told him, knowing it was true. “He likes _all_ the Disney movies. Sometimes he cries at the end.”

The sadness in Eliot’s eyes deepened, even as his smile grew wider. “You’re probably right, and I’m sure one day he’ll find someone to give him that. I’m just not the right person. I’m not good at it.”

“Then why are you going with someone else?”

Eliot shrugged. “Because there’s a lot of people in the world who aren’t good at it,” he replied, “but we take what we can get.”

Kit wasn’t convinced. If Eliot really didn’t like her daddy, why did he look so upset? She hated not knowing the answers. “Well, I hope you don’t have any fun,” she told him, slipping off the sofa. 

Eliot clicked his tongue at her. “Rude.”

She shrugged. “I do, though.”

“Well… that’s fair, I guess. By the way, you might want to watch where you pop up if this is going to become a habit. I’m naked more often than most.”

“Ew,” Kit groaned, giving him a dirty look before she popped herself back into the lobby. Returning to the dining room, she found Margo alone at the table. “Is Daddy smoking?” she asked, ready to stick her head outside and let him know she was quite aware of his bad habit. She was five, not stupid.

“No, he ran the stuff upstairs for that spell we’re doing.” Margo arched an eyebrow at her. “Why didn’t he run into you?” She looked at Kit's hands. “And where’s your charger?”

_Crap._ “I didn’t need it,” she admitted. “I had to talk to Eliot. It was really important.”

“Oh? What about?”

“Private stuff,” she replied.

Margo raised her eyebrows, looking surprised. “Well okay, then. Keep your secrets,” she said with a grin. “Eliot will tell me anyway.”

Kit shrugged. “That’s his problem.”

Margo cackled.

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Waking Dragons**

**Eliot**

It was late when Eliot emerged from Delancey Street station, inhaling the outside air deeply in an effort to expel the sour, metallic, and slightly rotten odors of the subway from his nose. Usually he avoided public transit like the plague, but tonight he’d been in such a hurry to leave Mason’s apartment he hadn’t even been willing to wait for the Uber the man had offered to call for him. 

It hadn’t been a bad date at first. Dinner had been nice. Eliot always enjoyed fine dining, and though Mason had definitely chosen the restaurant to show off his salary more than his taste, the roasted chicken they’d shared had been exquisite. 

Mason himself had been a nice surprise, more attractive in person than his photos had shown and easy to converse with. Eliot had assumed from the upscale restaurant he’d have to sit through another boring dinner listening to talk of stock trading or real estate before getting to the main event, but Mason had been more interested in asking Eliot questions about himself, which had led to a lively discussion of their college days, with more than a few embarrassing stories shared between the two.

Things hadn’t taken a turn for the worse until Eliot had agreed to go home with the man. The sex had been… well, it had been a disastrous failure, and Eliot knew the blame lay entirely on his shoulders. He’d been determined to prove to himself he could live his life exactly the way he had before Quentin had appeared back in it and had tried to force himself into something he hadn’t been feeling at all. He’d failed to  _ rise to the occasion,  _ so to speak, and even though Mason had been considerate about it, Eliot had still tried to salvage the evening by offering to at least get him off. 

His lack of enthusiasm had quickly been noticed, however, and Mason had made the unfortunate choice of trying to  _ talk  _ to Eliot about what might be bothering him, which had resulted in Eliot snapping at him. He’d felt so guilty about his behavior he’d all but fled the apartment after awkwardy apologizing.

Eliot was too distracted feeling sorry for himself to dodge an unexpected attack that came fast from the shadows of a nearby alley, jumping back with a shout when he felt a sharp pain above his eyebrow. Looking around wildly for any witnesses on the street, he quickly erected a standard shield around himself before bringing his hands up to form a rectangular frame in order to search for the magical signature of whomever had just cast battle magic at him. 

Seeing another invisible blade bounce off his shield with a flare of light, Eliot sneered, following its magical path back to the probable point of origin as he dropped his shield to prepare his own spell, something a little more serious than flinging a single sharpened point of energy. If it failed, he always had his telekinesis to fall back on.

Not knowing for certain if he was facing a single attacker or if a larger group was trying to lure him into the dark alley, he remained determinedly on the sidewalk, where the street lights offered him an advantage for the moment. And when he spotted the telling flash again, Eliot dodged quickly as he released his prepared spell in the direction it came from. He heard a loud and distinctly feminine grunt as the spell met its target and then the rapid slap of footsteps rushing toward him from another location.

Throwing his hand forward, he watched a petite figure bounce against the invisible wall he’d thrown up by instinct, his eyes darting further into the alley when he heard rustling. So there were two of them, at least. 

The woman he’d stopped dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way of the boundary Eliot had created, and he felt blood trickling down his forehead as she came at him again. This time, he caught her by the throat with his magic while he backed further into the middle of the deserted street, trying to concentrate and ensure he didn’t crush her windpipe. “Look, you  _ don’t  _ want to do this,” he told her, just as the other woman who’d been hiding in the alley appeared behind her, taller and with lighter hair than the one currently in his grasp.

Mistakenly assuming he didn’t have the power to restrain both of them, the taller woman took a run at him. Eliot shoved her back with just a thought, albeit more forcefully than he’d intended, wincing as she crashed into a dumpster. “Fuck,” he cursed, his hands trembling as he watched her push herself onto her feet again. “Look, it would be extremely easy for me to kill both of you,” he stated. “So why don’t you just tell me what your fucking problem is and we’ll talk it out?”

“Unless you have money, there’s nothing to talk about,” the taller one spat, glaring darkly at him as she began to tut, gathering energy for a more damaging spell while her partner dangled helplessly in the mouth of the alley, struggling against Eliot’s hold on her.

He sighed, biting his lip as he quickly weighed his options. Knocking them out could prove too risky; he could accidentally inflict permanent damage or even kill them. He really didn’t love the idea of violence in general, and he was  _ pissed  _ about the cut on his face, which was close to dripping into his eye. Hadn’t his night been shitty enough? 

Before the woman finished the tuts required for whatever she was intending to throw at him, Eliot dropped his hold on the other one before sending them both flying back into the alley in a pile of limbs and curses, and one very undignified yelp. While they were distracted, his hands moved rapidly to cast something he’d only done once before, to earn one of his more recent stars. 

Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat and beaded across his brow as he poured all his energy into the spell, whispering Danish under his breath as a blue, vibrant light began to coalesce just off the sidewalk, spinning furiously as it grew. 

He was starting to doubt he’d pull the spell off when the orb finally began to change form before his eyes, growing limbs first and then a head. He glanced down the alley, watching the two women start to disentangle themselves and grimaced, his heart thudding in his ears as he continued the incantation, rolling his eyes in relief when a large, spectral wolf finally formed in front of him, its eyes glowing a brilliant green. 

He didn’t have to command the beast; that was part of the spell. It was his own magic made sentient. The wolf wasn’t corporeal, but the damage it could inflict was. The downside was it would only last ten minutes before fading out of existence. Thankfully, it wouldn’t take him that long to make it to the hotel. 

Jogging across the street and away from his attackers, Eliot fished the pocket square from the front of his waistcoat and pressed it against his brow, holding it there as he found his keys with his other hand and let himself into the hotel when he reached it a few minutes later. Locking the door behind him and reflexively checking the wards, he allowed himself to lean against the door, catching his breath.

He was surprised to see lights on in the dining room, since most of the lobby and the hallway beyond were pitched in darkness. Wondering if Todd forgot to shut them off  _ again _ , he walked slowly down the hall to take care of it. One last thing to do before he went upstairs and blissfully passed out. 

Instead of an empty room, however, Eliot found Margo and Quentin seated at a table near the kitchen, each of them with a coffee mug. He felt the final nail pound itself into the coffin of his horrendous day; the last thing he needed at that moment was to have to lay eyes on Quentin. 

Quentin couldn’t know that by looking at him, though, and Eliot watched his mouth fall open as he looked Eliot over, quickly standing up from the table. Margo turned as well, her heavy-lidded eyes flaring wide with shock. “Eliot, what the  _ fuck?”  _ she cried, nearly spilling her drink as she clamored out of her chair to grab his arm. “If your date did this, he’s about to make a reservation at a funeral home,” she growled.

“It wasn’t him,” he told her, his voice more ragged than he’d expected as he lifted the now-ruined square of silk from his brow, shuddering at the blood staining it. “I got attacked on the way here. I think the McAllisters might have hired some help. They said something about money.”

“Hedges?” Margo asked as Quentin stepped closer.

He shrugged. “Not sure. I didn’t recognize them, but they definitely know Q’s here. They were too close not to.”

Margo nodded, pulling him towards an empty chair and gently shoving him into it while Quentin hurried into the kitchen. Eliot hissed as she prodded around the wound, and when Quentin returned with the first aid kit they kept under the sink, he sighed tiredly.

“We’ll have to let everyone know to watch their asses around the building,” Margo told him, opening the plastic box to remove a pair of nitrile gloves, a box of gauze pads, a bottle of saline, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, some cotton swabs, a tube of antibiotic ointment, and a roll of medical tape from it before scooting her chair up next to his, snapping the nitrile gloves on in order to clean the cut and patch it up. 

“I’ll send out a text in the morning.” He reluctantly looked Quentin’s way. “If Julia and Penny need to come by, tell them to travel straight inside.”

“Yeah, I will,” he promised, his face pinched with worry. “Do you—do you think I should maybe—”

“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence,” Margo warned as she pressed gauze dampened with saline to Eliot’s skin and started dabbing at the drying and coagulating blood. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Quentin sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Yeah, but if it’s going to disrupt the whole  _ coven—” _

“They’ll deal,” she said, and when Quentin looked to him, Eliot nodded in confirmation, unable to find the words to comfort him at the moment. He’d made a fool of himself not an hour ago, feeling like he was somehow  _ cheating  _ on Quentin (why lie to himself at this point?) when they weren’t anything but friends now. Of course, Quentin had no way of knowing that, but it didn’t stop the crawling embarrassment he felt every time their eyes met, or the nauseating guilt that had settled in the pit of Eliot’s stomach. What the fuck was  _ wrong  _ with him?

He was distracted from his thoughts as Quentin suddenly cursed under his breath, shooting an incredulous look upwards at… the light fixture? “Q, what’s wrong?”

“I… I can’t believe this, because what the absolute  _ fuck,  _ but the alarm for the spell just went off. It was  _ way _ louder than I was expecting, too,” he said with a wince.

Margo turned from Eliot. “Are you serious? We just set it, like, four hours ago.”

Quentin flapped his arms at his sides, like  _ ‘what do you want me to do about it?’,  _ and Margo sighed in disgust, peeling off the purple nitrile gloves and throwing them in the nearest trash can. “Well, I guess we’re dealing with that now.”

“I mean, we could wait,” he suggested, though it looked like it pained him to say it. “I’m sure it’ll happen again.”

“No,” Eliot told him, wondering if this night would ever end. “Call Penny.”

**Quentin**

Twenty minutes later, Quentin was sitting in his bedroom with Penny, Margo, Julia, and Eliot, waiting for the magically drugged piece of chocolate Margo had fed him to kick in, since he hadn’t had time to practice any type of meditation. Penny wasn’t sure it would do any good, but Margo had high hopes, as she’d indulged in them several times before. 

It should’ve been weird, falling asleep in a room full of his friends, but Quentin was too fucked up to really worry about it by the time his eyes slipped shut. 

He slipped into a dream almost instantly, finding himself on the rocky mountainside gradients of Chatwin’s Torrent. The water was crystal clear as it passed over the ancient stones of the stream bed; the sun’s reflection through the leaves casting sparkles over its flowing surface.

“I wouldn’t,” a voice spoke, and Quentin turned to see a young Jane Chatwin regarding him with something like disdain on her face. At least, he assumed it was Jane Chatwin. What other British schoolgirl would be wearing a beret in Fillory, after all? “The price is high, and it still won’t fix you. Not the way you want it to.”

“I-I don’t even  _ know  _ what I want,” he told her, looking back towards the rushing water.

“Don’t you?” she asked, stepping towards the edge next to him. “You want—” 

“Seriously, do you even  _ have  _ a life?”

Quentin whirled around to find Penny making his way down the steep gradient and watched as Jane crossed her arms, her mouth taking a sour turn. 

“Oh, I’m dreaming?” he asked, suddenly remembering how he’d gotten here. 

“Yeah, loser,” Penny told him, jumping the last few feet down before giving Jane a wary look. “You usually dream about British schoolgirls?”

“Uh,  _ no.  _ That’s…” He sighed as Penny smirked down at him. The man had been married to Julia for nearly three years; of  _ course  _ he knew who Jane Chatwin was. Quentin was fairly sure Julia had dressed as Jane for at least three Halloweens since she’d met Penny. “Fuck you, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s see if this shit actually works.”

Penny grabbed his wrist and in a flash the dappled sunshine was replaced with the dim glow of artificial light reflecting off polished wood. 

Looking around, Quentin found he was very familiar with the setting. “We’re at Brakebills.”

Penny nodded, looking around the library for anyone else.

Hearing the rhythmic thud of footsteps on the carpet, Quentin turned in anticipation, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing Alice again. He forgot how to breathe as she stepped out of the stacks, her cold blue eyes meeting his. 

Years of absence had dimmed the details of her in his memory: her pale, smooth skin, large eyes, and the straight, deliberate lines of her eyebrows and mouth. God, she really was beautiful.

Her glasses were absent. She was wearing the same patterned dress she’d been buried in, which was enough to remind him this wasn’t Alice—not really. Alice had never looked at him so disdainfully, not even when she’d been furious. Her skin had never crackled with blue fire and she’d never smelled faintly of ozone. It all helped to remind Quentin he wasn’t here to reminisce, but to protect his daughter.

“Hello, Quentin,” she greeted him, her voice as cold as her eyes. “Looks like you managed to get here.”

“You knew about the spell?”

“Of course I did. Why else would I be here?”

Quentin grimaced, glancing past her into the dim corridors beyond. “Where’s Kit?”

“Near the card catalog; we meet there.” She looked past Quentin, her eyes sparking. “Hi, Penny.”

“Uh. Hey.” He sounded more disturbed than Quentin felt.

“I don’t… Why are doing this? With Kit?” Quentin asked. 

“How could I not?” she asked, quietly incredulous. “She’s  _ unknown,  _ Quentin. Something that’s never happened before. Ever. Do you know how unstable wild magic is? Yet somehow, it’s condensed inside her tiny frame, playing nice with her fragile little neurons, when it’s torn grown men apart. All of her power is completely independent of the Wellspring.” Blue sparks trailed down the side of Alice’s face, seeming to convey her excitement. “It’s fascinating, and you and I  _ made  _ it. We’re part of that. Who knows what will happen when she comes into her inherited magic.” She snarled up at him. “And you’re not even doing anything about it. I’m the only one testing her, seeing what she can  _ do.” _

“You… asked me to be her dad,” he reminded her, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Alice rolled her eyes. “Don’t assume I’m the girl who still had her shade,” she warned him. “Besides, she should learn to defend herself. Surely her  _ dad  _ knows that.”

“From what? The McAllisters? I have her on a warded property, Alice. You can’t expect me to send her out to actually  _ fight  _ them. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck the McAllisters,” she spat. “I’m talking about the Library.”

Quentin’s brow furrowed deeply. “What’s the Library have to do with Kit?”

Alice scoffed at him, looking disgusted, but at that moment they both heard the patter of feet, and Kit ran past Alice to collide with his legs, hugging them tightly. “Daddy, what are you doing here?”

Quentin managed to smile. “Thought I’d check on you, is all. That’s what the spell we cast in your room was for, remember?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you’d be here with Mommy.”

It pained him to hear Kit use that word when it clearly didn’t affect Alice at all. “Um. Do you think you could maybe let me and your mom talk for a little longer? I don’t get to see her as much as you do.”

“Yeah, but hurry, okay? We were looking at something really cool.”

“Why don’t you show it to me?” Penny suggested, and Quentin gave him a grateful look.

“Okay!” Kit cried excitedly, running to take Penny’s hand and lead him back through the aisles. 

“The Library,” Alice began as soon as they disappeared, “was enjoying the fruits of the McAllisters’ labor. Kit put an end to that.”

“Huh?”

“The fairies, Quentin. Do you know what happens when you grind down the bones of a fairy?” He shook his head. “It creates  _ dust,  _ like something out of those stupid books you like so much, except it’s not just for flying. If a human happens to get that powder in their bloodstream, it grants them magic. The McAllisters cut a deal with the Library centuries ago. They provided the dust, and the Library kept quiet about their prisoners. Do you think they’re going to be happy about their supply being cut off?”

Quentin blinked, confused. “I don’t understand why they’d even want it, but… I’m here because I don’t know why you  _ care,  _ Alice. You—you don’t care about her. Do you?”

Alice growled a savage little laugh. “Not in the way you’re obviously hoping I do. I do want to see what she becomes, though,” she admitted, eyes hungry. “Parts of her book were pretty vague. I know she’s going to help change the world. I know losing her would be a waste. Isn’t that enough?”

“So I don’t have to worry about you bringing her here?” he asked pointedly. It was the reason he’d come. All the questions Alice had created regarding the Library would have to wait.

“Her corporeal body isn’t here, Quentin. I literally can’t physically hurt her.”

“I’m not talking about that. She’s a child, Alice. She’s sensitive.”  _ She thinks you care,  _ he didn’t add. He couldn’t afford to give her the ammunition. 

“Not nearly as sensitive as you,” Alice complained with a tired look.

Quentin sighed. “Just… You can’t be cruel to her. If you are, I  _ will  _ find a way to end this.”

“I haven’t been,” Alice told him, a sullen edge to her voice. “She wants to learn; we’re here for the same reason. She may be getting more out of it than I am, but she doesn’t know that. Are you going to tell her?”

“Of course not.”

She smiled, electricity dancing over her skin. “Then, neither will I.”

**Eliot**

Eliot was concerned as he watched Quentin’s face twitch in his sleep, while Penny sat on the floor, as immobile as a statue. Perhaps Quentin just didn’t have the experience Penny did with this, but he couldn’t help but worry something was happening to Quentin; something he couldn’t see or prevent. 

When his eyes finally opened, the size of his pupils was also worrying, though Eliot had seen a lot worse, usually in the mirror. Penny opened his own eyes a moment later, his expression strangely hollow as he stood and approached the bed. “You good, Coldwater?”

Quentin looked up at Penny in puzzlement, moving his lips several times before any actual sound emerged. “Uh… Yeah? I think I’m... pretty fucking stoned, though,” he whispered with his wide eyes and dilated pupils.

Margo laughed, taking a seat on the bed next to him and running her fingers through his hair. For a hot second, Eliot loathed her for it. 

Julia was watching Penny in concern, but she turned to smile softly at Quentin, reaching for his hand on the other side of his bed. “Q, we’re gonna go, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Yep,” he said, managing to smile shakily up at her.

With Penny and Julia gone, Margo smirked down at Quentin. “What are we gonna do with you?” she sighed.

“Let me sleep?” he suggested right before he frowned. “Wait. No. There was—a thing. God, you take this for fun?”

Hesitantly, Eliot took a seat on the edge of the bed opposite from Margo, though he kept his distance from Quentin. “A thing?” he asked.

Quentin’s head flopped to the side to look at him, his eyebrows pressing together in concern. “I forgot about your face,” he said sadly. 

“My…” Remembering the cut on his brow, Eliot laughed lowly. “It’s fine, Q. What was the thing? Do you remember?”

He looked confused for a moment before his eyes brightened. “Yes! Alice. She was talking. She said the…” Quentin looked around the room, as if the words he was searching for would present themselves. “The McAllisters were giving the Library dust.”

“Dust?” Margo echoed, her eyebrow arching.

“Yeah. Fairy dust, from fairy… parts. Bones? She said if people take it, it gives them magic. I don’t understand, though. Why would magicians need magic? We  _ have  _ magic, right? Does it give them more? Do we lose magic? Does it go away?” He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes almost crossing before he turned to look at Eliot again. “Does it?”

“Uh, it actually can,” he replied. “There have been disasters that fucked with circumstances so much people couldn’t cast, or it took years to adjust to, and to log all the changes. That’s why so many Russians are skilled with magic; they had to deal with Chernobyl, learn the way it affected their spells.” He scoffed. “Add that to Mischa Mayakovsky already being a sadistic genius, and it’s what made him, really.”

“God, I hated him,” Quentin groaned. 

“Everyone hates him,” Margo told him.

“Some people just lose their magic too,” Eliot continued. “Like they were given a finite amount or something. No one knows why. Or they lose an arm, or a finger, and can’t cast correctly. I’ve read about a few incidents of magic just—going out, though, with no explanation. There were what they called ‘brownouts’ in the eighties, and back during World War II there were quite a few outages, but the theory is too many battle magicians were sucking all the ambient dry. On top of that, fairy magic doesn’t deal in circumstances. It just happens. I could see why people would want to get their hands on something like that, even with magic of their own. Not that it’s right.”

“So, the McAllisters were giving the Library this shit, and they hid all their books so no one would find out,” Margo summarized.

“Yeah,” Quentin replied. “Alice thinks they’re going to come after Kit. It… fuck, I can’t… It’s too terrifying.”

“Don’t worry about it for tonight,” Margo told him, smoothing his hair off his brow. “We’ll gameplan tomorrow, figure something out.”

“Okay.” Turning to look at Eliot again, Quentin gave him a tired smile. “I’m glad you got a break from all this, even if it turned out shitty.”

Eliot wanted to cry; how was Quentin always so  _ good? _ Instead, he forced himself to return the smile. “It really wasn’t worth it. You should get some sleep, though. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Leaving Quentin to rest, Eliot and Margo stepped into the hall and entered the elevator together, where she leaned into his side. “Fuck, what a night,” she moaned as he wrapped his arms around her. “So, before you got jumped, how was your date?”

“I’d rather not,” he laughed, taking comfort in the familiar smell of her hair. 

“That bad, huh?”

He shrugged. “It happens.”

“Maybe for a reason?” she asked leadingly, but without her usual heat.

“Maybe,” he found himself admitting, just as the doors opened to her floor. She stood on her toes to kiss his chin before looking steadily into his eyes.

“Maybe you should think about that,” she suggested. She didn’t give him a chance to answer, though, patting his chest before leaving him alone for the night. 

In his own apartment, Eliot stripped out of his clothes and slipped on one of his robes before standing in front of his dresser mirror to examine his wound. It was an ugly gash, but he knew Amelia had spells to prevent scarring; he’d had such spells used on him more than once, and others that had erased much older scars, ones he didn’t care to remember. 

In his living room, he lit a cigarette and poured a drink, falling into the chair closest to the balcony. He wanted to see the night sky, even though New York’s ever-glittering light wash afforded him no real view. The one thing, the  _ only  _ thing he missed from his childhood were the stars. They’d made him feel small and inconsequential when his fury and pain had felt overwhelming. He briefly entertained the idea of taking off in Todd’s car and driving until the light pollution faded enough for him to stop and find those stars again. He knew he wouldn’t; it was a fantasy and he was far too tired to see how far he would have to drive to reach that goal. He could definitely use a reminder that his pain was unimportant, though—that it would fade with time, just like all the other times he’d experienced it. Just like everyone’s. 

Instead, Eliot sat, sipping his bourbon and smoking until his throat ached; until the black, empty sky began to turn gray. 

It gave him no answers, and he finally shuffled into his bedroom and slept without dreaming. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Confessions**

**Quentin**

Quentin was pushing the last of his eggs around on his plate the next morning when he heard the familiar cadence of Margo’s heels on the tile floors of the hallway, smiling as Kit looked expectantly toward the doorway.

“How are we this morning?” she asked in lieu of a greeting when she appeared, her eyes meeting Quentin’s. 

He shrugged. “Fine. Should I feel worse or something?”

“Just wondering. I’ve had some practice with those and you’re a lightweight.”

“With what?” Kit asked, looking between them. 

“Just some weird candy I gave your dad,” Margo said, wiggling her eyebrows playfully, “and before you ask, it’s strictly for grown-ups.”

Kit’s curious look turned doubtful, but she didn’t ask for explanation, turning her attention back to her bacon. 

Margo helped herself to the pot of coffee Quentin had made and powered up her laptop. “Any more news from Julia?” she asked, keeping it vague for Kit’s sake.

“Uh, no. There might be something in the news now, though. They’ve had time to, um, investigate, right? I’m sure there’ll be a staff meeting about it tomorrow, though. If there’s anything, she’ll tell me then. Actually, she’ll probably be by at some point. She forgot to take those books with her.”

Margo nodded, and he listened to her nails against the keyboard as she typed, her brow furrowed as she scanned the results of her search. “Nothing new,” she said after a few moments, her lips pursed in disappointment. 

Quentin cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher before pulling the book he’d been reading on transfiguration from the shelves again. He was getting pretty into it when he was distracted by Margo’s sharp laugh.

Looking up to ask her what was so funny, Quentin’s eyes flared wide at the sight of Eliot approaching the table. Instead of one of his usual tailored suits, he wore a loose v-neck sweater that displayed his pale skin and stark collarbones, a sharp contrast to the dark chest hair peeking out from underneath the knitted fabric. 

He was wearing his glasses: thick, black rectangular frames that did nothing to conceal his bloodshot eyes. While his hair was still damp from what was obviously a morning shower, it was still more wild and unruly than he’d seen it since he’d come to stay at the hotel. Judging by the stubble on Eliot’s face, he hadn’t bothered to shave, either.

While it was obvious Eliot was miserable, Quentin couldn’t contain the surge of lust that washed through him, remembering so many mornings when he’d woken to a very similar view. 

Margo was smirking. “Someone’s hungover,” she sang. Eliot rolled his eyes tiredly, holding up a single finger towards her in response before plodding into the kitchen. Kit covered her smiling mouth, very familiar with the gesture. 

Returning to the room with a mug of black coffee, Eliot settled himself between Quentin and Margo, draining most of the cup before he pulled out his phone to start typing.

“Sending that group text?” Margo asked.

“Yes, Bambi,” he growled, his throat sounding wrecked. Quentin tried to remember how Eliot had seemed before he’d passed out the night before, but the details were fuzzy. He’d seemed fine before the spell, though. 

“El, are you feeling okay?” he asked, tempted to reach out and check him for a fever.

Eliot managed a tired smile in his direction. “I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep.” He rested his phone on the table. “It’s done.”

Moments later, Eliot’s phone lit up with one message, then another. He groaned as his phone continued to vibrate again and again on the surface of the table as seemingly everyone in the coven replied to his text.

Margo picked up her own phone to check the replies as Eliot rested his head in his hands. 

“Eliot, what happened to your face?” Kit asked as Margo scrolled through her messages.

“Some people were mad the fairies got free,” Quentin explained to his daughter. “Eliot ran into some of them last night, but he’s fine.”

Kit raised her eyebrows, giving Eliot a pointed look. “You shouldn’t have gone, then.”

Margo snorted, while Quentin gave the girl a reprimanding look. “Don’t be rude, Kit.”

“I’m not. I was just sayin’,” she shrugged. Eliot said nothing in response, glaring tiredly at his phone.

Kady walked into the room moments later, doing a double take at Eliot but choosing not to comment before taking a seat at the next table. “So, what the fuck happened?” she asked. 

“El got jumped last night,” Margo summarized. “It was just a couple of blocks over, so we’re pretty sure they know Quentin’s living here.”

“Aren’t they, like…” Kady trailed off, obviously not wanting to say “dead” with Kit in the room.

“What?” Kit asked, looking sharply at Quentin when no one responded. “You’re not telling me stuff again.”

He sighed. “Sweetie, I tell you as much as I can.”

Kit shook her head, her mouth turned down angrily just before she disappeared.

_ “Fuck,”  _ he whispered, standing from the table. “I’ve got to go look for her. If she leaves…”

“Let us know if she’s not in her room,” Margo told him. “I can throw together a magical lo-jack for her ass real quick.”

“Yeah, we might need to look into that,” he admitted grimly.

Thankfully, Quentin did find Kit in her room, hurriedly stuffing clothes into her backpack. “Go away,” she demanded as soon as he entered, not even looking at him.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” he replied, leaning against the door frame. “Going somewhere?”

“I’m going to see Aunt Jules. She treats me like a baby too, but I’m not  _ mad  _ at her.”

“Okay, that’s—fair. You kind of  _ can’t  _ go see Aunt Jules right now, though.”

Kit’s arms fell to her sides as she glared at him. “Why? I can go anywhere I want.”

“I’m sure that’s technically true, but those people that are mad? That hurt Eliot?” She nodded that she remembered. “Some of them work with Jules. One of them is the man that tried to take you from the store.”

Kit’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why do they let him work there, then?”

“It’s not that easy,” he told her, stepping into the room to take a seat on the corner of her bed. “They lied and said I attacked them. They have people looking for us, and that didn’t stop just because we freed the fairies, okay? It… It might get worse. And I know you get mad that I keep things from you, but you’re a  _ kid,  _ Kit. You don’t need to know everything. I wish  _ I  _ didn’t know some of this stuff.”

Kit’s blue eyes were grave. “I bet if I asked the queen, she’d tell me.”

Quentin closed his eyes, refusing to give into the fear of that possibility. “I… Maybe she would. Maybe she has some way of seeing what’s going on here. I really don’t know. It would worry me a lot if you did, though.” Her eyes darted guiltily away from him. “I’m trying my best here, but I can’t— _ make  _ you stay. I could probably make you come back. I could try to bind you. I don’t want to do  _ any  _ of that. I want to trust you.” 

Kit’s eyes filled with tears and she turned away from him, sniffling. 

“Look, why don’t you tell me why you think you should know everything. Talk to me, okay?”

Kit shook her head quickly, and Quentin held back a smile. He knew she’d talk to him, but not until she had her emotions under control. Crying often made her angry, and having it acknowledged usually only made it worse.

After several minutes of hiccups and sniffles, Kit spoke again, though she still faced the wall. “I’ll stay,” she grumbled. “But it’s not fair.”

“Thank you,” he told her. “Kit… anything I don’t tell you... It’s just the really bad stuff, okay? You’ve got to let me take care of that until you’re old enough.”

She finally turned his way, her eyes trained on the floor. “Okay. Can I… can I just stay up here for a while? If I promise not to leave?”

“Do you really promise?” he asked, not loving the idea.

“Yeah. You’re all gonna try to talk about it again without saying anything and it makes me mad.” Her brow furrowed a bit. “And I think Eliot’s mad at me.”

Quentin laughed softly, surprised. “Sweetie, why would Eliot be mad at you?”

Kit’s blue eyes finally turned up to meet his. “I was mean to him yesterday,” she admitted, “and then he got hurt and I was mean again just now, and he didn’t say _ anything _ .”

“He’s not mad at you,” Quentin assured her, though he couldn’t remember Kit saying anything to Eliot the day before that stood out to him. “He doesn’t feel good, okay? He’s just tired.”

Kit nodded, not looking convinced. After another reassurance she would stay put in her room, Quentin reluctantly returned downstairs to find Todd had joined the group as well, looking troubled. Eliot was texting on his phone, his eyebrows drawn together behind the frames of his glasses. 

“How’s the munchkin?” Margo asked as he seated himself back at the table. 

“Grouchy but okay.” He huffed out a laugh. “She thinks El’s mad at her.”

Eliot looked up from his phone, brow lowered in confusion. “What?”

Quentin shrugged. “I don’t know, she said she was mean to you and she thinks you’re pissed off at her.”

Eliot looked vaguely surprised before smiling. “Jesus. Um—maybe let me deal with these fucking texts and I’ll address that.”

“What happened?” he asked, looking at Eliot’s phone.

“A bunch of people are wanting to come by anyway,” Margo explained, also looking at her phone. “They want in on whatever shit is going down, and we don’t exactly know what to tell them.” 

Quentin worried his lip between his teeth. The fairies were a done deal, right? All that was left were the McAllisters. Well, there was also the possibility of the Library, but he didn’t want to consider it at the moment, hoping Alice was somehow wrong. “Does it really matter if you told them the truth? At this point, what would it hurt? Kit broke the deal.”

Margo’s lips pulled back from her teeth, a doubtful look in her eyes. “Q, someone could still…”

“What, tell them where we are? They know already. Do you have anyone here who could dismantle those wards?”

Eliot scoffed. “I’m barely sure  _ I  _ could,” he admitted. 

“Okay, so then what is there to worry about? I doubt anyone here would actually give us up to the McAllisters anyway. I mean, I get it if you don’t want to involve them for, like, their safety or whatever, but…”

“He’s right,” Kady said. “I don’t know everyone really well, but the majority are solid. I also don’t really love the idea of running checks around this place by myself all day every day.”

“No one asked you to,” Margo told her.

Kady tilted her head, giving Margo an annoyed look. “Oh, is someone else volunteering?” Margo glared mockingly at her through narrowed eyes, causing Kady to laugh as she shook her head.

“I don’t know,” Eliot sighed. “There’s still too many things that could happen. What if someone tried taking Kit?”

Quentin shrugged. “She can literally disappear any time she wants.”

“She’s also already put one McAllister in the hospital,” Kady reminded him.

Eliot still looked uncertain, drumming his long fingers on the surface of the table before closing his eyes. “Fine. I’ll let them know they can come. We’ll—fuck, make an announcement or something.” He started typing.

**Eliot**

Eliot gave his permission for most of his hedges to return to the hotel, telling them he’d be filling them in on the situation in two hours and wouldn’t be repeating himself; it was Sunday, they could deal. He then left the room to put himself together for the day, as much as he just wanted to collapse instead. 

Eliot pressed the button for the sixth floor first, however, knowing there was something he needed to deal with before anything else.

Knocking lightly on Kit’s door, he smiled at the footsteps he heard within her room before it opened, her large eyes peering up at him. “Eliot, why are you here?”

“Well, you weren’t downstairs,” he explained. “May I come in?”

Kit gave him a suspicious look before pulling the door back to allow him inside. “Daddy told you, didn’t he?”

“Told me what?” he asked innocently.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not dumb.”

Eliot sighed. “Fine. Yes, he told me. I’m not mad at you, though. I had… a bad night. That’s all. I could honestly use a very long nap and I don’t get to have one. Whatever I did to make you think I was upset with you, I’m sorry.”

Kit’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Well, I wasn’t nice so you don’t have to be sorry. I mean, I still kind of hope you didn’t have fun but I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Eliot laughed quietly. “I know that,” he assured her. “And between you and me, I had absolutely no fun at all.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully.

“Honestly. Are we good?”

Kit slowly smiled, nodding her head. “Yeah. You really shouldn’t leave again, though. If something bad happened.”

“I don’t plan to,” he replied. “Now, I have to go get presentable but you’re more than welcome to go back downstairs.”

Kit shook her head. “I don’t think I want to, not if you guys are gonna keep talking about stuff I’m not a-sposed to know about.”

“Well, we are,” he admitted, “but we’re probably going to have some—assistance with the situation soon. Hopefully it’ll be over soon and we can forget about it.”

Kit seemed to mull that over, her lips pursing as she glanced at the laptop resting on her nightstand. “Eliot? Are the fairies… are they bad?”

_ Shit.  _ Eliot immediately thought of telling Kit it was a question better suited for her father, but he knew if he did she was likely to start drawing her own conclusions. “Well… I guess they’re probably a lot like people, really. Good, bad, some in-between. I mean, helping them wasn’t bad, if that’s why you’re asking.”

Kit chewed at her lip. “Even if they do something bad after that?”

Eliot studied her closely, wondering what she’d overheard and how much she knew. “Did you, um. When your dad went into your dream, did you hear him talking about something?”

Kit shook her head quickly, her eyes straying towards her laptop again, and knowledge hit him like a hammer right between the eyes.

She didn’t need to overhear anything. She had the fucking  _ internet.  _

Eliot sighed raggedly, bringing his fingers up to knead at his temples. “Kit, you can’t even fully  _ read,”  _ he told her, like that could somehow erase what she already knew. Were all tiny children just evil geniuses? Could this be Quentin’s fault? Or the unknown Alice? Maybe some convoluted combination of all three? “What did you look up?”

Kit gaped up at him, her bow-shaped lips opening and closing anxiously. “I just  _ tried  _ to spell it,” she told him. “A-And I got it wrong, but Google fixed it.”

“So you read a news article?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t. There were videos, though.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, holding his hand out. “Let me see, okay?”

Kit pouted about it, but finally retrieved the laptop from the nightstand and crossed the room to hand it to him. Opening the web browser, Eliot saw the video at the top of the page, with a written article below detailing the murders of the McAllister family. Feeling sick to his stomach, Eliot handed it back to her. “Okay,” he sighed, wishing he’d never stepped foot off the elevator. “This is your dad’s right?” Kit nodded, biting her lip. “Are you supposed to be using it?”

She slowly shook her head.

“Then I think it’s only fair you tell your dad,” he told her, watching her eyes widen fearfully. “Please don’t look at me like that,” he pleaded, guilt creeping in through the very fragile air of authority he had going. “You did it, and there are—you know. Consequences, probably. But just between you and me, your dad should probably have secured his shit a little better, considering.” She nodded, her lips turning down at the corners, making him feel like a monster. While he knew Quentin had probably never given Kit a reason to fear him, Eliot remembered that fear had felt all too well. Thinking maybe it would help, he knelt down on the floor next to her, making himself as short as possible, though he still had inches on her. “I get it, okay? Being in the dark is no fun. When you know everything, though… it can get scary.”

“The fairies did that, right? Because I helped them?”

“No, they  _ did  _ it because the McAllisters kept them caged up for a very, very long time,” he told her. “And… they hurt them too. A lot. I’m not saying what they did was right, but I can’t say I don’t understand why they’d be angry.”

Kit’s brow wrinkled over her bright eyes. “So those people were more bad?”

Eliot wondered what power in the universe had decided he was the one capable of dealing with a five-year-old’s philosophical questions. “I guess that’s—a very simple way of putting it. Killing someone… it’s always gonna be bad, but what you did wasn’t part of that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Eliot slowly stood from the floor, inwardly cursing his creaking knees as he did so. “I really do have to go get ready. Are you okay to make it to your dad?”

Kit’s hands fidgeted nervously over her stomach. “Can I go with you? And then to my dad?”

He laughed. “I have to shower and get dressed, so no. Why are you so scared, anyway? It’s Quentin. There’s nothing scary about him.”

Kit huffed out a loud sigh. “He just gets really sad when I do something I’m not a-sposed to,” she confessed. “I feel really bad.”

“Oh, well I think you’re going to have to handle that on your own,” he replied, amused and so grateful Kit had no idea things could be so much worse for her than that. “I’ll be down soon enough.”

**Margo**

“Are you okay?”

Margo looked up from the notebook she’d been blankly staring at to find Quentin looking at her in concern. Seeing the pen in her hand, she realized she’d been tapping it against the table for some time without realizing. Kady had returned her attention to her phone, and apparently Todd had disappeared while she’d been zoned out. “Yeah, just trying to get this meeting all worked out,” she lied, placing the pen on the blank page.

She really did need to jot down a few talking points before everyone arrived, just to make sure they didn’t spill anything their witches didn’t need to know. Eliot was good at talking on the fly, though; she probably didn’t need to bother.

She just wasn’t sure  _ Eliot  _ was good.

She’d laughed at the sight of him, but while amusing to see, she’d realized it had been a very long time since she’d seen him leave his bedroom looking so disheveled. It really hadn’t happened since those first few months after he’d left rehab, when he’d drifted around her loft like someone half asleep, barely leaving his bed for more than an hour at a time. She knew she was going to have to prod at him to tell her how much he’d drank the night before and it wasn’t something she was looking forward to.

Also, if Eliot was drinking more than usual, she didn’t know what to do about it. She wasn’t about to tell Quentin he needed to leave. She  _ knew  _ she wasn’t going to get Eliot to open up to her. She’d thought things were going well. Okay, maybe not  _ well _ , but pretty good considering Eliot’s dumb ass was involved. Now, it was obviously fucking not even  _ good _ . 

“Daddy?”

Margo turned to see Kit approaching the table, her tablet hugged close to her chest and looking nervous as hell. 

“What’s up?” Quentin asked, already looking worried.

Kit’s expression was grim as she joined them at the table, taking her time in setting her tablet aside and crawling up into a chair. “I did something bad.”

Quentin’s mouth pressed into a firm line, his eyes darting over Kit like he was checking for blood or bruises. “Okay. Did you go somewhere?”

“No, I promised.”

Margo watched his shoulders fall slightly in relief. “Okay, thank you for that. What did you do, then?”

Kit’s tiny tongue crept out to wet her lips. “I looked up what happened. On your laptop.”

Margo didn’t understand at first, and it was clear Quentin didn’t either, his eyebrows drawing together. “What do you mean, sweetie?”

Kit squirmed in her seat. “I looked up the people that died. The McAllisters,” she said, mangling the name a bit, “and watched the videos about them. I know what happened.”

Margo’s eyebrows shot up so hard she felt it in the tight pull of her ponytail, and totally forgot to sit on the sidelines and let Quentin parent. “Wait, you’re telling me you searched for the McAllisters and found the news by yourself?” she asked, unable to believe it.

Kit nodded. “I didn’t know how to spell it, but I got close and it showed me anyway.”

Quentin looked completely lost, his mouth hanging open as he stared at his daughter. He finally sighed, his expression pained as he dropped his gaze to the table. “Kit… How did you even sign into it?”

“You have the same password for everything!” she cried, her chin quivering when he sighed raggedly. “Daddy, I’m  _ sorry.”  _

Quentin looked close to tears himself as he forced his head up to meet Kit’s gaze. “No, it’s… you didn’t do anything wrong. I just didn’t think…” He shook his head, anger briefly flaring in his brown eyes, but Margo knew none of it was for Kit and her heart ached for him. How was he supposed to know she’d be capable of something like that? “I’m sorry you had to learn about it that way,” he told her, his voice rough with emotion. “Do you—do you have questions about it?”

Kit shook her head, looking worriedly at her father. “No, I talked to Eliot.” Margo smiled a little over the way she always said his name with two syllables. “He said it wasn’t my fault.”

“Yeah, he’s right,” Margo assured her. “You did the right thing. What they did after that is on them, okay?”

“Yeah. He’s not mad at me either,” she informed her dad.

Quentin smiled, though it didn’t meet his eyes. “Told you he wouldn’t be.”

“I’m gonna go start checking around; people will start showing soon and it’d probably be good if they weren’t attacked,” Kady said, standing from her chair and pocketing her phone. 

“Thanks,” Margo told her, opening a separate text thread outside the group chat. “I’m going to get Amelia down here to heal Eliot up before we get this shit show on the road.”

Quentin’s phone rang and he left Kit with her to step outside. Margo grinned when Kit ran to the window moments later, scowling due to the fact he was obviously smoking out there. Amelia texted she’d be downstairs shortly and Margo responded to several more texts in the group chat before Quentin returned inside, looking incredibly anxious.

“Jesus, what now?” she cried. 

Quentin shook his head, rolling his eyes slightly. “Jules is on her way with Penny. It’s—probably better to wait for Eliot.”

Margo didn’t like the sound of that, but kept quiet as Quentin let Julia and Penny inside from the courtyard a few minutes later, even managing to smile weakly at Julia when she waved at her with a tight smile.

Quentin waited through Kit’s greeting to the two before quietly pulling Julia aside. Judging by her troubled expression, Margo assumed she was being informed of Kit’s new knowledge regarding the McAllisters. 

Amelia arrived in the dining room before Eliot, and by the time he showed up several of their hedges had already arrived, leaving her no time for a quick chat about his drinking habits. It was comforting to see him looking more put together, the dark circles under his eyes the only remaining sign of how he’d looked before. Amelia dealt with the gash on his forehead with little effort, only a thin pink line remaining once she was finished. 

Quentin took a seat across from Eliot once Amelia left the table, with Julia and Penny standing behind him, Kit perched on Penny’s hip. “So, I’m just gonna say this and you guys can freak out about it later.” He met Margo’s eyes steadily, then Eliot’s. “Dean Fogg knows.”

Eliot’s eyes barely widened before narrowing on Julia. “What. The.  _ Fuck?”  _ he asked without raising his voice. “Knows what? Everything?”

Julia sighed. “I didn’t really have a choice,” she replied. “I also left Kit out of it as much as I could. The only thing he knows about her is that the fairies were going to take her if Q didn’t help them out.”

“Okay, but  _ why  _ does he know?” Margo demanded.

“He called me to his office this morning. Irene told him she’s having a board meeting tomorrow. They’re going to pin the murders on Quentin.” Eliot barked out an incredulous laugh. “He wanted to speak to me first because he knows we’re still friends and he’s kept quiet about it. He didn’t think Q was capable of it, so he asked me to trust him.”

“And you did,” Eliot sighed, leaning back in his chair with an exhausted expression. 

“I told him about the fairies and about the deal. I told him Q joined up with a coven and figured out a way to break it. Now he knows none of you had anything to do with the murders. He’s on our side. He has no idea of anything Kit can do; she’s not in danger from this.”

Eliot’s mouth twisted thoughtfully. “So, there’s nothing you gave him that he can use against us when the mood strikes?”

“Nothing,” she promised. “And anything he hears from Irene, he’s going to let me know. He’s not very hopeful, though. I also told him about the McAllisters’ connection with the Library. He thinks he may be able to help us get some information about that if we give him some time. If we can find some sort of proof of the arrangement Alice told Q about, we’d have evidence.”

Margo rolled her eyes; she wasn’t thrilled about anyone from Brakebills knowing their business, but it didn’t sound like Julia had entirely shit the bed on this one. She also wasn’t sure if it was something she could ask Harriet about, not entirely sure on how she’d gained her Library access or how loyal she was to the institution. “Fine,” she relented, looking around the room before she checked the time. They had ten minutes. “El, we’re going outside.”

Eliot gave her a quizzical look but didn’t argue, leaving his chair to follow her out the door and under the balcony, where he lit a cigarette while she cast a warming charm on herself. “We don’t have a lot of time, so just tell me now if I need to clean out your bar,” she told him, steeling herself for his reaction as she kept her eyes trained on his face.

Eliot looked briefly confused before a short laugh escaped him. He rested against one of the supports, exhaling smoke into the air. “No, Bambi. I did have four drinks, but it took until the sun came up this morning, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Margo’s brow furrowed. “You’re not sleeping?”

He sighed, looking out into the courtyard. “Just last night; it’s not an issue or anything. I nursed a few glasses, smoked an entire pack, and I passed out for a couple of hours. Yes, I feel like shit but it’s nothing to concern yourself over.” His eyes were sincere as they met hers, though there was a spark of amusement within them. “Though now that I know me looking like I got hit by a truck rings alarm bells for you, I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

Margo glared at him, trying not to smile. “You’re such a bitch.” He only nodded in agreement. “Look, if you want me to handle most of this little announcement…”

Eliot shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I would like Julia and Penny to make themselves scarce for it, though. We don’t want to look like we’re throwing our hat in with the Brakebills set, not right now.”

By the time they returned to the dining room, however, Julia and Penny were already gone and Kady and Amelia were seated with Quentin and Kit near the front of the room. Margo made a quick headcount a few minutes later and nodded at Eliot; everyone who’d offered to help was accounted for, which added up to just under twenty hedges. 

“Alright,” Eliot began, his voice carrying easily through the room, even with the rough edge to it. There was some settling at various tables before everything went quiet, and Margo took those seconds to position herself at Eliot’s side. “I know everyone’s noticed we have new members. We never really do introductions because this isn’t high school, but I’m also aware we’ve been… distracted recently. There wasn’t a reason to involve any of you in this until last night.

“I know some of you are familiar with the name McAllister.” There were looks of confusion around the room, ranging from those who weren’t familiar at all to those who weren’t sure why the name was being brought up. “They practically own Brakebills University and they’re a large part of why we struggle to get the information we need. Some of you have probably seen on the news that most of them were murdered.” There were several nods, and a few people exchanged alarmed glances with one another. 

“The truth is, they were murdered by fairies.” Kady’s cousin Theo laughed from the back of the room and Eliot shrugged. “I know how it sounds, but it’s true. Fairies exist and the McAllisters were keeping them as slaves. Quentin—” Eliot gestured in Quentin’s direction and Margo stifled a laugh as he sank down in his chair, “—had something to do with freeing them.” All eyes in the room landed on Quentin and he looked like he was about two seconds away from bolting. “He helped the fairies escape and they took their revenge once they were free.” Kit opened her mouth, obviously to argue about her part in things, but Quentin grabbed for her hand, quickly shaking his head. She pouted at him but remained quiet. 

“The problem is,” Eliot continued, “that there are still two McAllisters and they know Quentin was somehow involved.”

“And they know he’s here?” Tiffany asked, her eyes wide. Margo glanced around for Tiffany’s twin sister Emily and didn’t see her in the room.  _ Well, that’s fucked up.  _ The two argued incessantly but she’d never seen one without the other.

“We think so,” Eliot admitted. “They can’t step foot in the hotel, though. We had the wards checked and layered on several more.”

“Yeah, but what about everywhere else?” Amelia’s best friend Lacey asked, her hand raised like she was in class. “I mean, if they see us here, what if they follow us home?”

“It’s a concern and one of the reasons I’m filling you in. Quentin lives here—that’s not going to change.” Margo watched Quentin look to the floor, his mouth flattening into a thin line. “He didn’t do this on a whim; he did it to save his daughter. That’s all you need to know about his story, but he’s part of this coven. We aren’t about to abandon him. It’s fine if you don’t feel safe coming and going for now. We’re working on taking care of it, but it’s a… considerable problem and it’s going to take some time. No one is getting kicked out if they don’t want to be involved.”

“Aren’t there just two of them left, though?” a voice called from the sofa in the back of the room, and Margo had to lean a bit to the left to see it was Greg, one of their most talented casters. He was only an inch or so taller than her but was hell on wheels when it came to psychic damage. “What’s the big deal? We take them out, we get on with our lives.”

“It might not be that easy,” Margo interjected, sharing a glance with Eliot before he nodded for her to take over. “We found out that the McAllisters were keeping the fairies as a resource.” She looked at Quentin. “Actually, you may want to explain that. You weren’t too clear last night.”

Quentin looked like he’d rather melt through the floor than get up and speak, but he stood after a moment with a grimace. “Um. The fairies can be used as a magical source, through their, uh, bones? The McAllisters were, uh, grinding them into powder, and if it’s introduced into the bloodstream, it gives the user magic.” Margo watched as eyes went wide around the room. “They—they were giving a lot of it to the Library of the Neitherlands in exchange for their, um, silence?”

“We don’t know if that’s going to be a problem yet,” Margo finished and Quentin returned to his seat in relief. 

“Okay, no way can we take on the goddamn Library,” Greg’s girlfriend Sera spoke up. “I’ve heard of them. My aunt went to Brakebills. She said they have, like, all the knowledge in the known universe, or something.”

“We definitely can’t,” Margo agreed, “and if we think they’re going to be an issue, we’ll let you know. They may not do anything at all. If they do, we’ll all be talking again. For now, we need a show of power against the people the McAllisters are hiring to keep tabs on this place. Kady’s our best battle mage but she can’t do it alone. Everyone needs to brush up on their wards and shields too. Even if you plan to take a vacation from this place for a while, it would be better to have a way to protect yourself outside of here.” She looked at Eliot. “What about Marina?”

“What, coming to teach a class?” he laughed. “I don’t even know what she’d charge for something like that. You know how much she hates sharing.”

From Amelia’s table, one of their shyest hedges, Tabitha, raised her hand. “I’m pretty good with wards. I mean, not as good as Marina, but my stuff could probably hold up against some other hedges?”

Eliot smiled, and it was difficult for Margo not to smile along with him, his quiet pride and exhausted relief obvious to her. “We can try that, yeah.”

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt the need to put a content warning on this chapter, the notes regarding that are at the end. I didn't feel I could leave out some mention of it, so please take care of yourselves. Also, updates on this are unfortunately going to slow down quite a bit. I am having some medical issues and have not been in a good headspace to write lately. I'm also having surgery next month for a different medical issue. Fun, right? I promise I'm not abandoning this fic. I'm still writing, it's just been at a much slower pace. Thank you all for your support so far, and a huge thanks to my beta and internet wife for tackling the mess that is me.

**Disclosure**

**Quentin**

After Tabitha’s offer to lead a session on warding the meeting seemed to naturally break apart, but Quentin felt the questions were far from over as he glanced around the room at all the wary faces. Eliot seemed to notice the tension and uneasiness in the air as well, and Quentin watched him make his way over to one of the larger groups in the corner to speak with them more privately. 

Quentin wasn’t sure he could justify staying if the coven wanted him gone. He knew Eliot’s opinions and justifications about the subject, but he also had intimate knowledge of what a self-sacrificing ass the man could be. Quentin wasn’t about to let him lose everything he’d accomplished over this. 

Then there was the matter of Kit. If they were to leave, he somehow had to ensure her safety, and he wasn’t skilled enough to protect her alone. He knew that now. The only option that seemed viable was distancing the two of them from New York, and that was still no guarantee the McAllisters would stop tracking them. Also, the issue of Quentin having very little knowledge of anywhere that wasn’t New York or New Jersey made the idea of living somewhere else a daunting one. The only times he’d left the area had been for high school field trips and family vacations to Maine. He’d never been one for driving, like most New Yorkers, so his driving resume only included a few panic-inducing attempts with his father and Eliot. Sure, he could take Kit to another large city where a vehicle wasn't a necessity, but how far would his savings really stretch? No more than a few months, surely. He couldn’t put Kit in a situation like that.

“Quentin, right?”

Startled from his thoughts, Quentin looked up to find one of Kady’s relatives had approached the table. He knew Kady had several cousins and at least a couple of them were in the coven, though he hadn’t learned their names yet. 

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

The man shot him a crooked grin before taking a seat across from Kit and Quentin braced himself for whatever he was about to say. “Theo, by the way. Sorry to barge in on you and your girl here, but fucking  _ fairies?”  _ He shook his head, green eyes sparkling. “I gotta hear about this.” His eyes widened as he shot a panicked look towards Kit. “Sorry ‘bout the language, I’m not used to kids.”

“It’s—fine,” Quentin stuttered, laughing. “I’ve given up at this point. I’m just glad she doesn’t repeat them anymore.”

Kit frowned, chewing one of the Red Vines he’d given her to keep her from interrupting during the meeting. “‘Cause I get in trouble,” she told Theo. “Which is kinda dumb. It’s just a word.”

Quentin rolled his eyes, not sure where to begin with how he’d encountered the fairy realm. “So, um. Have you heard of Fillory?”

He was pretty deep into his explanation of Fillory and its adjacent fairy realm when he realized he’d attracted a small crowd, but Quentin only faltered for a moment before picking up the thread and continuing, glancing around to locate Kit at the same time, since she’d disappeared from his side. Finding her across the room in Eliot’s lap, the two of them studying something on his phone, caused the dumb animal part of his brain to stutter and practically salivate at the picture. 

_ Fucking STOP it,  _ he sternly ordered his brain, but he couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away for more than a few seconds at a time, stealing glances as he explained what he knew about the fairies and their time on Earth, his heart feeling like it was doing cartwheels just because Eliot was holding his kid. It was stupid.  _ He  _ was stupid. 

It wasn’t strange at all to see Kit comfortable with Eliot; she wasn’t shy like he’d been as a child, and she’d always been tactile and affectionate. Seeing Eliot, though… Quentin had never really envisioned him ever being around a child at all, but he seemed perfectly at ease, laughing at something Kit said as she tilted her head back to look up at his chin. It was far too easy to imagine the entire scene in a different context, something that meant more than Eliot simply entertaining his daughter for a few minutes.

_ But that’s all it is,  _ Quentin insisted silently, forcing his eyes away as he tried again to focus on the conversation at hand. 

“That’s so fucked that they had to leave,” the blonde who was standing behind Theo stated once Quentin wrapped up his story. “I mean, okay, they’ve got magic. But what the fuck? Are there not any—I don’t know, laws for stuff like this? Aren’t they protected or something?”

“By who?” Theo asked with a snort. “As far as I know, there’s no secret magic government protecting anybody. All the vamps in the city almost got wiped out in the eighties and no one did shit about that.”

A nervous-looking teenage girl with a pixie cut looked worriedly around the table. “Wait, vampires are real?”

Before anyone could respond, there was a loud thud against the glass of the door leading to the courtyard. Turning, Quentin froze when he saw a hand pressed against the pane, leaving trails of red as it slid down to reveal a face coated in blood. Shocked, he could only stare as his brain struggled to catch up with his eyes. “What the…”

_ “Emily!”  _ the blonde cried, racing towards the door. The sounds of scraping chairs across the hardwood followed, along with a cacophony of voices. Being closest to the door, Quentin was penned in by the crowd as they pressed forward, unable to see anything but the people surrounding him.

_ “Get the fuck out of the way!”  _ he heard Margo shout over the din, and Quentin sat up taller in his chair, trying to find her or Eliot. Eliot had Kit, and whatever was going on, she didn’t need to see it. The people around him weren’t going anywhere, however, and when Margo shouted again, her magically enhanced volume caused him to wince.  _ “EVERYONE NOT AMELIA AND TIFFANY CLEAR THE FUCK OUT BEFORE I FREEZE YOUR ASSES!” _

The threat worked better than the demand, and Quentin was finally able to rise from his chair as the room began to rapidly clear, most of the hedges making their way towards the hall. Once he was able to see Eliot he momentarily forgot to worry about Kit: Eliot’s face was sickly pale as he stared in the direction of the door with large, terrified eyes, seeing that Emily had been pulled inside, her head cradled in the lap of the blonde he’d been talking to just moments before the chaos had erupted. He assumed she was the Tiffany Margo had bellowed about. Brow furrowing, he looked between the two women and realized after a moment they were twins, though it was hard to tell with one’s face covered in blood. There were smears of it on the floor from the woman’s hands and as Quentin watched, Amelia knelt in it without noticing. Margo followed, standing behind the healer with a pinched expression. 

“Kady and a few others went outside to look,” Margo told Emily, who looked up at her with pained eyes but nodded weakly, reaching for her sister’s hand. 

“She’s cut pretty good, but she’s gonna be fine,” Amelia spoke. “Head wounds bleed like a bitch, is all.”

“She’s okay?” Tiffany asked.

“Yeah, give me a few and she’ll be…” Amelia trailed off, mouth hanging open slightly as Eliot quickly rushed past her to escape outside.

Quentin wasn’t sure what to do. He’d been asked to leave but Kit was nowhere to be seen and Eliot had been with her last, but bothering him didn’t seem like a great idea at the moment. 

Watching Eliot’s retreat, he jumped slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Margo frowning worriedly. “He told Kit to disappear up to her room,” she explained. “I don’t think she saw anything.”

“O-Oh. Yeah, okay. You don’t think he, like, went to follow Kady?”

Margo shook her head, looking through the window. “No, he’s probably puking his guts up out there.” She glanced at him, looking reluctant. “Would you mind? It’s… I’m not good at hand holding, and I’m gonna have to play security in here for a few or the room’s gonna fill up again.”

“Uh. Yeah, I guess I can check on him.” 

Margo gave him a brief smile in thanks before turning to ignore him; and, feeling helpless, Quentin stepped around the group on the floor to walk out into the courtyard. He didn’t see Eliot upon first glance and wondered if he really had left to catch up with Kady. 

Stepping into the middle of the yard, however, Quentin spotted Eliot sitting against the brick wall beneath the balcony, his hands hanging over his raised knees as he smoked. The ground had to be freezing but he didn’t seem to notice, his eyes glassy as he stared out at nothing. 

“El?”

Eliot visibly jumped, his eyes darting towards Quentin before he looked away again, his mouth turning down. It was obvious he didn’t want company, but Quentin couldn’t leave him in this condition; he was shivering from the cold and visibly traumatized. He walked underneath the balcony, keeping a few feet of distance as Eliot wet his lips and inhaled from his cigarette, the shadows beneath his eyes prominent in the daylight. 

Quentin cast a warming charm on the both of them, and Eliot shook his head, blinking slowly. “I’ll… head back inside in a few,” he said, and even that seemed difficult for him to get out, his eyes trained on the winding stairs that led up to the second floor. “I’m fine.”

“It’s fine if you’re not,” Quentin told him, leaning against the post closest to him. “I think anyone would have an issue after what you saw back then.”

Eliot laughed, barely more than a jagged breath of air. “God, how bad is it that I didn’t even think about that?” he asked, his voice hollow. He rolled the filter of his cigarette between his fingers. “I never could tell you back then. I did that; I killed Logan Kinnear with my fucking magic. And you’re right, it fucked me up for a really long time.” His eyes were golden as he stared out towards the alley.

Quentin wasn’t sure he had time to process that. Remembering all the nightmares Eliot had woken him up from about the childhood bully he’d watched die, never understanding why he’d felt so fucking guilty about it.  _ Guess I know now.  _ “Um. I think maybe you still might have some, like, issues with it? You looked pretty freaked out in there.”  _ You still do,  _ he didn’t add, knowing how defensive Eliot could be over his perceived weaknesses. 

“It wasn’t that,” he said quietly, his voice still as rough as it had been since that morning. 

“What is it, then?” he asked, hoping he could get Eliot to talk to him. 

Instead, Eliot closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. “It’s nothing.” His jaw flexed before he opened his eyes again, looking straight ahead as he continued to smoke.

Quentin scuffed the sole of his shoe against a paving stone, trying to push the disappointment he felt down where it wouldn’t be noticeable. Eliot had no reason to confide in him now. “It’s, um. It’s fine—if you don’t want to talk to me. I get that, but you don’t have to lie. I just hope you’re talking to someone about it.”

Eliot chuckled lowly at that, his head falling back to rest against the wall. “Yeah, a lot of fucking good that does. Obviously. Some things you just have to accept are too fucked up to fix.”

“Uh—yeah, that’s true.” He laughed nervously, thinking of something just terrible enough to possibly lighten the mood. “I mean, I can’t hear ‘Wrecking Ball’ without going fucking catatonic, and there’s not shit my therapist can do about that.”

He watched Eliot’s eyebrows draw together as he turned towards him. “What?”

Quentin shrugged. “There was this girl at the clinic that last time. That’s all she sang, from breakfast to fucking lights out, and it drove me insane because she only knew the chorus. Anyway, I just couldn’t handle hearing it after that.” He shook his head, sighing. 

When Eliot didn’t respond, Quentin looked to find him staring almost angrily beyond him, his mouth a tense line. The hand not holding his cigarette was gripping his knee, his knuckles white. 

_ What’d I say?  _ he wondered, watching Eliot warily, but it seemed he’d been forgotten for the moment. It was obvious he shouldn’t have mentioned his stay at the clinic, but he wasn’t sure why. Their relationship had ended there but they both knew that. Why did Eliot look terrified all over again?

Quentin only had a few memories from that week that weren’t dulled by the medication he’d been prescribed, and most of them involved Eliot’s one visit. He remembered the guilt in his eyes when he’d rushed into the visitor’s area to embrace him tightly and how relieved he’d looked once they’d pulled apart. He remembered how Eliot had gently teased him over the state of his hair, and how gingerly his fingers had touched the edges of the bandages around his wrists, his eyes filling with tears he’d quickly blinked away just before Quentin had set their relationship on fire.

His stomach took a sudden swan dive as it all clicked together in his mind. He knew another time Eliot had been exposed to blood; he’d been there, after all.

_ It’s me,  _ he realized.  _ I did this to him. _

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped without meaning to, running his hand through his hair almost viciously, furious with himself. “I’ll… fuck. I’m sorry, I’m just gonna…” 

He made it three steps before Eliot called out. “Q? What’s wrong?”

He wheeled around, his arms flailing at his sides. “I… me, right? It’s me. I-I shouldn’t even be  _ out  _ here,  _ God.  _ I’m sorry, I didn’t know, a-and Margo asked me to, but I’ll just...” He gestured towards the door, not trusting his voice any longer.

Eliot rushed to stand up, his eyes wide. “Quentin, don’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” 

“No,” Quentin cut him off, walking back to where he’d just been. “Just… don’t. Don’t apologize. God.” He slouched against the post. “I didn’t even fucking  _ think,  _ but of  _ course  _ that had to be, like…” He trailed off, his guilt too heavy to continue. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Eliot told him, and Quentin closed his eyes against the weak reassurance. It wasn’t Eliot’s job to comfort him when he’d  _ put  _ Eliot here. Jesus, how many times had he put Eliot here? “Q, you were sick.”

“Yeah, I was. I am,” he corrected bitterly, forcing himself to take a deep breath. “But what I did? It was still my fault.” Feeling the all too familiar burn in his throat, he was tempted to punch something. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just be there for someone without falling apart? “I let it get that bad. I wanted to be fucking  _ normal,  _ like that’s even a thing. I didn’t take my meds and I didn’t show for my therapy appointments, which my dad was still making for me because I couldn’t grow the fuck up. I didn’t tell anyone it was that bad.” He hurriedly wiped at his eyes with his sleeves as he felt the first tears escaping. “A-And Jesus, I put everything on you, you know?” Eliot was frozen as he stared at him, his cigarette forgotten in his hand as the paper burned away. “I know I did that. You could fill a fucking book with all the times my therapist has gone over ‘codependency issues’ with me.” He shook his head, hating himself. How had he never considered the possibility that what he’d done, one of the  _ worst  _ things he’d done, could’ve left a mark on Eliot? Julia hadn’t found him that night, or his father, but he’d known what he’d done hurt them all the same. What he’d done to Eliot was  _ so  _ much worse in comparison. “You—you made me happy, El. So fucking happy that I convinced myself I was… cured, I guess?” He laughed. “But I wasn’t and I was so far up my own ass about it. I know what Julia thought, and if she said anything…”

“She had a point,” he said softly, sounding so defeated and fucking complacent Quentin wanted to shake him. “I kind of disappeared on you. I-It wasn’t by choice, but—”

“That wasn’t it,” Quentin told him, just barely managing not to shout, but Eliot’s eye twitched anyway, like he wanted to flinch. “Yeah, you were gone a lot, but I was already checked out by then. I thought it was… for the best.” Eliot winced at the words, looking to the ground. “I’m not trying to bring all this up again, I know it’s been over for a long time. It’s not like it even matters now, right? I’m just… I’m sorry. I know it’s, like,  _ really  _ too late for that. I should’ve told you a long time ago,” he admitted. “I was honestly too fucked up to know what I was sorry for at the time. I didn’t get—any of it back then, even when I snuck out of Brakebills to find you.”

Eliot looked at him sharply. “You came back?”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah. I… kind of talked to Margo about it, a little. She said you moved in with her. I didn’t have a phone, though, or any way to look for you. I figured you were probably better off. I, um, kind of convinced myself you’d been seeing that, uh, guy I saw you with.”

Eliot sighed, his shoulders sagging against the brick. “Q—” 

“I know, it was stupid. Still, you don’t have to explain,” Quentin told him. “That’s… I know what I did. Whatever happened after that, it’s—fine. It’s not my business. I just… I  _ am _ sorry. I don’t know how much that matters now.”

Eliot slowly stood, tapping another cigarette out of his pack to hand to Quentin before lighting another of his own. “I’m not saying it doesn’t matter, I just… don’t know what to say,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on the ground. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Quentin replied, inhaling nicotine until it burned. 

“I just…” Eliot’s lips pressed into a thin line as he looked above, searching for words. “You weren’t the only one that was fucked up. I could’ve—done more, found some way to tell you what was going on. I could’ve left the coven, I was just too afraid to.” He laughed humorlessly and Quentin wanted to argue but also didn’t want to interrupt. “Jesus, I almost got kicked out anyway. It’s not like it would’ve mattered.”

“Kicked out?” Quentin echoed. “What, because of me?”

Eliot shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “I’m sure Margo skipped over the fact that she shoved me into rehab before she moved me in with her. That didn’t set well with our coven leader, but she dealt with it. After that, though…” He frowned, seeming uncertain on continuing. “I couldn’t cast, not for months. Shit broke everywhere I went, but I couldn’t manage to do anything intentionally. I was just so terrified of my magic again, and I fucked up every time I tried anything. It doesn’t matter; it didn’t happen. I’m just saying it probably wouldn’t have mattered either way.”

“Was it… I don’t really get it,” he admitted. “Like, if I fucked you up that bad—”

_ “No,”  _ Eliot cut him off, looking pained. “I’m not blaming you. I just… I used it on you, and every time I tried to—to even do a Popper after that, I’d just…” He took a shallow breath before continuing. “I’d lose it.” He shrugged. “I got over it. Obviously.”

“Eliot, I don’t...” He’d been so out of it that night, he could never recall more than a few brief flashes before he’d woken up in the hospital. Still, wouldn’t he remember Eliot using magic in front of him, when he hadn’t known it existed? “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t?” Eliot looked faintly incredulous before his eyes began to dart around wildly, like he was wishing he could escape the conversation. He wrapped his arms tightly over his chest, as if he believed he needed to protect himself from further harm. “There was... so much blood, Q, and you were so… I thought you were dying.” A tear slipped down his face and he rolled his eyes, his lips pinching together in frustration at the obvious show of emotion. “I held—I held them shut with my hands. Your, um—the cuts. But it wasn’t _doing_ anything, so I just…” His eyes slipped shut and Quentin held his own breath, knowing what Eliot was going to say and unable to believe it. “I used my telekinesis and I held them shut,” he went on, his voice trembling as his shining eyes stared out into the past. “I _knew._ I knew if I fucked up at all, I could rip you open. I could have killed you. When the EMTs got there, I nearly threw them against the wall, I was so fucking out of it.”

“Fuck,” Quentin whispered, tears running freely from his eyes. “Jesus  _ fuck,  _ Eliot.” His cigarette fell from his hand and he didn’t bother to retrieve it. “Why would you…”

When he didn’t continue, Eliot quickly wiped at his eyes before looking at him. “Why would I what?”

Quentin laughed sharply, not feeling entirely present. Part of him was back in that bathroom, and he didn’t quite understand how he was also  _ here. _ “God, why would you let me  _ in  _ here? Why would you…” He shook his head, lost. “I mean, I knew I put you through, like, a lot. It was pretty much all my first therapist drilled into me. Not just you, but in general. I didn’t… I didn’t understand shit I do affects other people, not for a long time. I just didn’t know it was that bad. I thought you’d be relieved to get away from me, but…” His chest hitched and he took a deep breath. “You probably really should’ve been.”

“Quentin, don’t say that,” Eliot said, his tone tiredly pleading and very quiet.

“How can I not?” he asked. “I feel like… everything I did, I just  _ took  _ from you. I mean, I obviously fucked you up.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Eliot replied evenly, surprising Quentin with a small smile when their eyes met. “We had issues, I’m not arguing that. But I’ve always been pretty self-serving. If I wasn’t happy, I wouldn’t have been around.”

“I just don’t see—”

“You never did.” Eliot stepped closer, moving his hand to hold Quentin’s elbow, barely touching him at all, like he was afraid he’d be rejected. “You’re… Q, you’re so much better. I love seeing that, but I’m not convinced for one second that shithead brain of yours stopped lying to you. I was happy; I don’t have a reason to lie about that, so please shut up.”

Quentin scoffed, glaring up at him, ready to tell him he was ridiculous, that the way he viewed himself was so fucked up he probably wouldn’t know happiness if it smacked him in the face. Seeing the smallest hint of teasing flaring to life amidst the pain in Eliot’s eyes, though, he couldn’t do it. The fact Eliot cared about him at all was a goddamn miracle, wasn’t it? Why would he ever want to convince him otherwise? If he was ready to end this discussion for now, Quentin couldn’t fault him for that. “Well… maybe you just have low expectations,” he groused, trying to maintain a frown as the other man grinned at him, subtle relief in his eyes.

“That’s a look I haven’t seen in awhile,” Eliot drawled. “I thought maybe you’d outgrown being a brat.”

Quentin felt his face immediately begin to burn and Eliot’s smile widened shamelessly. “Shut up.”

“I asked first. I also said ‘please.’” Eliot’s expression smoothed into a perfect mockery of innocence, though his eyes were still red-rimmed and slightly puffy from tears.

Quentin rolled his own eyes, the remorse in his chest loosening into something more bearable. “You’re impossible.”

Eliot held a finger up to his full lips, reminding Quentin he wasn’t supposed to speak. Quentin elbowed him in retaliation, just enough to brush Eliot’s arm, though he still looked properly offended about it before his eyes slid slowly towards the door. “I should probably help Margo,” he sighed, sounding reluctant. 

“I mean, I can do it,” Quentin offered. “Clean up the, um, mess. If you want.”

Eliot smiled warmly, his hand resting on Quentin’s shoulder. “It’s kind of my job,” he replied. “Besides, Kit is probably having kittens waiting to hear what happened.”

Quentin laughed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I should check on her. But, um, text me if you need something?”

“Promise,” he replied, his hand falling away.

**Eliot**

Eliot was certain he’d never been this exhausted before without the involvement of drugs or sex or both. After Emily had been patched up, Kady and a few others had left the hotel to track down her attackers, but had been unsuccessful. Tabitha had taught several people a few simple wards before they’d left for the day, and Eliot had walked the twins to the portal they used that led to Hoboken. 

A lot of people had stayed to strategize, however, and though Eliot had been physically present for all of it, Margo had been forced to snap her fingers in front of his face more than once to get his attention, his thoughts repeatedly drifting back to his conversation with Quentin. 

It was hard to believe. After all the years he’d spent denying anything from that night was Quentin’s fault… Eliot had felt so selfish for so long for trying to take any of the pain from that night for himself, telling himself he should have been stronger, that someone better than him could’ve handled it…

After everything, Quentin had apologized, and what was even more confusing was all of it had made sense to Eliot. Quentin  _ hadn’t  _ taken care of himself back then. He’d never wanted to discuss his medication and had gotten bitchy if anyone had even reminded him to take it or refill it. He’d shrugged off questions about therapy and had changed the subject any time his depression was brought up in conversation. Though some asshole part of Eliot wanted to argue it was still his fault, he found blaming himself more difficult now and he wasn’t sure how to adjust to life without that guilt quietly chipping away at him. 

By the time the dining room was empty that night, Eliot knew Margo had been waiting all day to hone in on him, and when she brought two mugs of tea from the kitchen instead of something with alcohol in it, he sighed in resignation.

“Spill,” she ordered, handing him one of the mugs before taking a seat on the sofa next to him. 

“Bambi, I hate tea,” he reminded her, though he was already blowing across the heated surface of the liquid to cool it.

“Well, you’re not getting anything stronger. We’re making like the British and doing tea and sympathy, instead. I put a bunch of sugar in yours, though.”

He laughed under his breath, taking a cautious sip and grimacing. Even with the added sweetness, it wasn’t something he’d choose to drink on his own. “I’m tired,” he told her. “Beyond tired.”

“And?” she prompted, raising her eyebrows.

“I… Q and I talked,” he admitted, “about some—difficult things. I’ve just been mulling it over, I guess. I’ll be fine, though.”

“Good or bad talk?”

Eliot shrugged. “Good, probably. It was just a lot.”

She nodded, satisfied with his answer. “Well, that’s a relief because I had no fucking idea how I was kicking you out of this hotel.” She shot him a teasing grin and Eliot kicked at her ankle with a glare of warning. “What? I like Kit more than you.”

He chuckled. “I’ve noticed.”

Margo set her tea aside and leaned against his shoulder and Eliot absently ran his fingers through the ends of her hair, taking a moment to appreciate the first moment of real quiet he’d had all day. He nearly choked on his tea when Kit suddenly appeared in front of them, her blue eyes widening when she spotted them.

“Whoa, what the fuck?” Margo asked, sitting up as she looked Kit over. The child was still in her pajamas but had a pair of ugly, shapeless tan boots on her feet. She was also wearing her coat, though it wasn’t zipped up. 

Kit took a step back from them, her eyebrows shooting up. “Why aren’t you asleep?” she squeaked.

Eliot laughed mirthlessly, setting his drink aside as he stood from the couch. “Was that the plan?” he asked. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Kit raised her arm, pointing towards the door. “I need to go outside.”

Margo growled. “Are you shitting me? Or did you miss the whole ‘people are attacking us’ conversation?”

Kit frowned anxiously, hopping in place. “But they’re right outside! I need to go!”

_ “Who’s  _ outside?” Eliot demanded, his fingers already twitching to cast. 

Kit ran to the locked door, cupping her hands around her eyes to look through the glass. “I can’t see, but they’re out there.” She pulled away to look up at them. “I think it’s a fairy.”

Margo’s brow wrinkled. “What, is it, like, talking to you or something?”

“No, I just—felt it?” She jumped in place again. “Can we go outside?  _ Please?” _

“Jesus,” Eliot muttered, but moved to unlock the door. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, taking a moment to cast a shield on Kit before stepping outside. Margo followed, holding Kit’s hand, though he didn’t know what good it would do, considering she could just disappear. 

“I think it’s over there,” Kit told them, pointing towards the gate before standing on her tiptoes to wave, her eyes brightening. “Hi!”

Eliot rolled his eyes towards the sky but walked towards the gate, making sure to stay in front of Kit. Of course the alley appeared empty to his eyes.

“Yeah,” Kit suddenly said, staring out at nothing and nodding her head.

“Okay,” Eliot said, holding a hand in front of Kit to block the fairy’s view of her somewhat. “This little conversation isn’t happening if you don’t show yourself.”

A moment passed before a pale figure appeared beyond the gate, their broad shoulders suggesting a male, though it was hard to see in the dim light. “I apologize. Is she your ward?”

Eliot’s brow quirked at the archaic term, but he shrugged in agreement nonetheless. “I guess you could say that, sure.”

“I was only asking if she was the one who broke the deal. I don’t understand how, but I felt the fracture here.”

“The queen helped me do it!” Kit chirped and Eliot had never wanted so badly to cover someone’s mouth.

“You have met with the queen?” the fairy asked, looking bemused. “Are you in contact with her?”

“Not generally,” Margo spoke up, “but yeah, we’ve met.”

“And she’s well?”

“She’s fine,” Eliot replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why haven’t you joined her? You all can go anywhere you want, right?”

“I do not know where she resides,” he admitted. “Otherwise I would be there.”

“They’re in Fillory,” Margo told him. “Was that not planned before this whole deal went down?”

The fairy looked shocked, even with his blackened eyes. “You mean they haven’t left in all this time?”

“Why would they?” Margo asked. “They have a whole realm all to themselves. Looked pretty cozy to me.”

“Because that was only meant to be temporary,” he explained, his eyebrows drawn together. “Creating an adjacent world like that, it is never meant to be permanent. It cannot sustain us.”

Eliot exchanged a confused look with Margo. “I mean, everyone looked fine to us,” he mused. “Not that we’re experts or anything, but nothing seemed obviously wrong.”

The fairy shook his head. “The worlds we create are barely more than illusion; anything more would require far too much energy to maintain. If they have been there all this time, it surely means no children have been born.” He looked between the three of them. “Do you have a way to contact the queen? I would very much like to speak with her.”

“I mean, we could probably arrange something in a few days,” Eliot told him, “but not right at this moment.”

Kit looked up at him. “What about my mirror?”

Eliot briefly recalled Quentin’s expression when he’d mentioned the Fairy Queen’s gift and considered waking him but decided against it. If he was angry about it later, Eliot would accept it. “I’m not sure that would work, but we could try.”

Kit grinned before blinking out of existence. She returned moments later with the small mirror in her hands, which she opened before either adult could speak. Eliot moved behind her to peer into the glass, where he saw a dim flickering light just before the Fairy Queen’s face appeared in the shadows. “It is quite late, is it not?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Hi!” Kit replied. “It’s late, yeah, but there’s a fairy here that wants to talk to you. Is that okay?”

Eliot saw the slightest rise of the woman’s brow. “Of course.”

Kit looked up at Eliot before lifting the compact for him to take, and he handed it over the gate to the fairy. 

“I’ll return shortly,” the man said before disappearing.

“Well fuck!” Margo shouted, her mouth agape. “What if he takes off with it?”

“I can still see him,” Kit informed her before turning her back on the fairy. “He probably just doesn’t want you to hear him.”

“That’s not comforting.” 

Kit shrugged before looking up at Eliot again. “Am I in trouble?”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m not your dad but if I know him at all, I’d say yes.”

She sighed, turning away again and a few moments later the fairy reappeared, holding the compact out, which was now closed. Eliot stepped forward to retrieve it and slipped it into the pocket of his pants to give to Quentin later. “How did it go?” he asked, not knowing what else to say. 

“I have been asked to locate a new home for us,” the fairy replied, “though I am not sure where to begin.”

“Oh, well that’s—a lot. Do you still need to meet with her in person?”

“No, I do not believe so but I would like the opportunity to update her, if that would be possible.”

“Are we gonna end up murdered if we say no?” Margo asked, her brow arched. “I’ve heard that’s been an issue lately.”

The fairy’s dark eyes dropped to the pavement. “I was not involved in that,” he replied, “but if you can blame us—”

“I don’t,” she cut him off. “Not really. Still, I’m not exactly thrilled to be standing here.”

“I feel the same, if that is any consolation.”

Margo smirked. “Well, at least we’re on the same page.”

“Indeed.”

“I don’t see a problem with you—visiting,” Eliot told him, “but I’m not sure Kit will be around for it. I can bring the mirror out to you, though.”

The fairy nodded. “That would be fine.”

Before anyone else could speak he disappeared, and after a few moments Kit turned away from the alley. “Are you telling on me now?” she asked, looking between Eliot and Margo.

“No, we’re going to let your dad sleep,” Eliot told her. “Can I trust you to go back to bed?”

She nodded. “Are  _ you  _ gonna go to sleep? You said you were tired but you’re still up.”

“It’s been a busy day,” he told her. “I’ll head that way soon enough.”

“Okay.” With that, Kit was gone.

Margo sighed loudly. “Q’s gonna blow a gasket.”

“I won’t blame him,” Eliot replied, leading Margo back inside and out of the cold. “I just hope I did okay handling that. Maybe I should’ve woken him up.”

“You did fine,” she assured him, taking her phone from the arm of the couch before flopping onto one of the cushions. “It’s nothing you can’t bring up tomorrow.” 

Eliot leaned against her side, watching her scroll through a list of toys. “Are you buying Kit more stuff?”

“Yeah, it’s almost Christmas. I’ve got everyone else’s shit.”

He rolled his eyes. “Q’s gonna kill you.”

She snorted. “I can take him. Have you even started shopping?”

“Hello, have we met?” he teased her. She knew very well he did all of his holiday shopping in a last minute panic, though he usually didn’t have many people to buy for. “God, can you pick out something for her from me? I have no idea what kids like.”

“You could just ask her, genius. Hey, do you have any idea what Q would like?”

_ Oh, fuck.  _ He hadn’t even considered buying Quentin a Christmas gift. Would Quentin get him one? He’d have to get him something just in case, right? He groaned against Margo’s hair. “Don’t stress me out right before bed. I haven’t even thought about that.”

Margo laughed. “Well, you could give him that dick. I don’t have that option.”

Eliot sat up, slapping weakly at her arm as he glared at her, which only made her laugh harder. “What? He’d love it.”

“You don’t know that,” he reminded her.

“Oh, like it’s not obvious that boy is just itching to call you Daddy.”

Eliot’s breath hitched and he immediately stood from the sofa to hide his reddening face from Margo. “On that note, I’m going to bed.”

Margo giggled wickedly. “I called it! I  _ knew  _ he was one of those!”

“I’m going to bed,” he repeated, keeping his tone as even as possible as he walked away. 

“I’m totally right!” she called after him. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a discussion of Quentin's suicide attempt, including mentions of blood and cutting. There is also mention of his time in the clinic afterwards.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm alive! I just wanted to warn that this chapter is seriously depressing. I thought about waiting to post it along with the next chapter but I didn't want to make you all wait any longer. Please take care of yourselves, and I absolutely promise things will get better for Q and Eliot very soon. 
> 
> I also wanted to clarify in case there's any confusion. This fic actually takes place in 2022; it just worked out that way which is weird, I know. 
> 
> My beta came up with the chapter title, which is from Rilo Kiley's "A Better Son/Daughter." Thanks, boo!

**Weak, But Not Giving In**

**March 9th, 2015**

**Quentin**

Quentin was staring blandly at the television talk show that afternoon, the volume turned down too low for him to follow anything happening, though it looked as though the guests were about to get violent with one another, which seemed rather Jerry Springer of them. Looking at the clock on the wall, caged in by metal like the one in his elementary school gym, he inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled, the sound heavy with frustration when he realized he would have to spend another hour of exile in the common area before he could return to his room. The entire hall that led to all their rooms was currently shut down for cleaning; but, thank fuck, the two other guys he shared the unit with had chosen to spend their time in the cafeteria instead of the common area like he had. He wanted to lie down, but no amount of assurance from the patronizing clinic staff could convince him that putting his head down on an unfamiliar sofa that saw several male asses sitting on it every single day was a good idea. He’d rather just sit, thanks, if he had to be out here at all. He was exhausted and his stomach was roiling in irritation. He wasn’t quite sure which one was worse. Both were obnoxious side effects of the fucking medication he’d been placed on over the weekend, and he couldn’t wait to throw the entire damn bottle in the trash the second he got home. 

“Quentin?”

Turning to look over the back of the sofa (it was orange plaid, for fuck’s sake), he looked at one of the aides that had entered the room, curious as to what the guy wanted, if it wasn’t time for him to go back to his room. “Yeah?”

“You have a visitor. You want me to bring them in here?”

Them’s the rules: common area or cafeteria. So Quentin nodded, because any whiff of food right now was going to send his stomach into a full revolt and the room seemed permeated with the faint smell of burnt coffee.

He was surprised Julia the Wise and All-Knowing had the gall to visit after their argument over the phone the night before, and he distractedly ran a hand through his tangled, greasy hair as the aide left to go lead her in. He couldn’t imagine their visit today would go any better than the shitshow from last night. Quentin’s involuntary hold had ended last night and he wanted to fucking go home to his own bed. Julia, of course, had tried talking him into staying a full damn week or even fucking longer. As if that was ever going to happen. She’d even been shitty enough to bring his dad into it, telling Quentin she’d spoken to him and he’d agreed with her, which Quentin couldn’t even know was true. Hell, he wouldn’t put it past Julia to have made it up. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d lied to get what she’d wanted from Quentin when she was desperate. She’d also refused to come pick him up, knowing he couldn’t leave on his own. 

Quentin’s swiftly building anger vanished almost in an instant when the door to the common area opened and Julia wasn’t the one to enter. Instead, Eliot walked into the room, tall, lean, absolutely a sight for sore eyes, the most gorgeous man Quentin had ever seen, and he was glancing around anxiously until he spotted Quentin on the sofa. “Q,” he said softly, his voice slightly hoarse, and then his long legs were bringing him swiftly across the room before Quentin could even get to his feet. 

As soon as he was standing, he was pulled into Eliot’s arms and Quentin sank against his solid form in relief, tears springing to his eyes as he inhaled the familiar scent of his boyfriend’s body wash still clinging to his skin. _Eliot was_ _here._ He didn’t have to go home, not today. Eliot would let him stay at his place for a day or two, until he felt he could face Julia. 

“I-I thought you were pissed at me,” Quentin confessed blearily as he pulled away enough to look up into Eliot’s eyes, wiping away the wetness in his eyes with the cuffs on the sleeves of his shabby hoody.

Eliot’s eyebrows pressed together worriedly as he brushed his thumb down the side of Quentin’s face. “Of course not.  _ Someone  _ didn’t let me know you could have visitors, but I called your dad this morning and he let me know.”

“Oh. Yeah, I should’ve called, I just…” Quentin shrugged helplessly, feeling a little small as he looked down at his baggy sweatpants (sans the illicit drawstring, of course), generic slipper socks, and aforementioned, drawstring-less hoody. “This isn’t really my best look.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Eliot replied, the hint of a teasing smile curling his lips as his hand slipped from Quentin’s face to comb through his hair, seemingly doing more good for his asshole brain than a million antidepressants or antipsychotics ever could. “I’ve always liked bedhead on you. And I was talking about dearest Julia, not you. I’ve been texting her, but she never answered. I should’ve called your dad earlier.”

Quentin shook his head in annoyance, taking Eliot’s hand as he sat on the atrocious sofa again. Eliot joined him, their thighs close together as his fingers brushed gently over his bandaged wrist. “Are you, um…” Eliot’s eyes turned glassy before he looked towards the ceiling, blinking several times as he laughed, high and hoarse and derisive. “Never mind.”

“Am I okay?” Quentin guessed, a wry smile on his face; Eliot glanced at him, his guilty expression giving him away. “I mean, as okay as I can be. I just really want out of here. This new medication is fucking terrible. I’ve been so tired ever since I started them and I can’t eat, like, at all. Everyone in here is… weird. I just want to go home.”

Eliot’s fingers slotted between his own and Quentin squeezed them gratefully. “Don’t all medications have side effects like that, though?” he asked. “They eventually go away, right?”

Quentin shrugged. “Sometimes, yeah... but they can last for weeks and I just…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, though. I can leave today and maybe I can ask my doctor to try something different.”

“You can leave?” Eliot asked, his brow pinching in confusion.

“Uh, yeah. I was cleared to leave this morning, but Jules made it pretty fucking clear she was against it. Apparently my dad is, too.”

“He… didn’t mention that when I talked to him,” Eliot replied quietly, and Quentin scowled. It didn’t prove Julia had lied to him regarding his dad’s opinion, but it definitely made him wonder.

“They both think I should stay longer, but I just…” Feeling his throat burn, Quentin took a moment to breathe through the panic descending on him. “I can’t stay here, El. Did you take the subway here?”

Eliot nodded slowly, his eyes searching Quentin’s face. “You… you want to leave right now?”

“Yeah. I was gonna take a nap before you got here but I’d rather just go, you know? I can sleep at your place, right? If I see Julia right now, all we’re gonna do is fucking argue and I honestly don’t think I can handle her shit right now.”

Eliot wet his lips, glancing down at their joined hands. There was something hesitant in his eyes when he looked back up. “Q, I’m not…” He took a deep breath, taking Quentin’s hand in both of his. “I’d love for you to stay with me, baby. I would, but… I kind of think Julia’s right, maybe.”

“What?” Quentin asked quietly, barely able to hear his own voice. 

“I get it’s probably terrible here, but… what happened… it was serious. You scared the  _ shit  _ out of me, a-and I’m not sure a few days is enough to know you’re gonna be okay. Have you talked to the doctor about it?”

Stunned, Quentin pulled his hand from Eliot’s. “My doctor met me two days ago, Eliot. She doesn’t know the first thing about me! Being here isn’t  _ helping.  _ It just reminds me that…”  _ I belong here,  _ he almost said, the fear causing his throat to close up for a moment. “That I’m crazy.”

“You’re not,” Eliot cupped Quentin’s face in his hand, his voice soft and soothing. “But Q, sweetheart… you still need help. I’m not… I can’t…fuck—this isn’t something I—I can help you with. I wish I could. I want to, but I…”

Quentin’s thoughts scattered even as Eliot’s voice grew quiet.  _ They’re all leaving me. One by one, they’re all marching on, away from me. They know, I’m just a human bomb with a broken fucking timer.They’re all so fucking tired, just like Mom got fucking tired. She just knew to get out early. There’s only so long you can sit around waiting to see if a bomb is going to explode before it gets boring as shit. They’ll all visit off and on for a few weeks to make themselves feel better about locking me up before they disappear and I’m just left here. God, I can only fucking hope I won’t even remember to care pretty soon. It’s not like I’m not good at anything outside of here. Hell, I’m not good at anything, anywhere. I suck at being a person and they know that. I’m a piece of shit and they all know that too. I tried, I swear I fucking tried, but they’re all so fucking tired of holding me up and carrying my weight and God, I can’t even blame them. I’d leave me here too. I deserve to be left here. _

“And how exactly have you been helping?” Quentin heard himself say before he’d decided to say anything at all, surprised at the hot vermillion flare of anger in his chest. It felt right, though, to be so irate at his boyfriend. It felt  _ good _ to feel this heated indignation pulsing through him, directed at the man he loved _.  _ Eliot wanted to leave him here, like a damaged product he could just return to the store because it’s broken? Fine, but he was damn well going to have his say about it first. 

Eliot’s eyebrows rose in soft surprise, and a small gleam of alarm started to show in his eyes. “I-I didn’t say I have. I know I haven’t exactly been—”

“You’ve been a ghost, Eliot,” Quentin interrupted, his voice angry and sharp. “I don’t see you for, what, three weeks, and then you suddenly show up like some kind of goddamned superhero to save the day? A-And I guess I should, like, thank you for that, but I wouldn’t call it helping. Don’t expect me to ju-just swoon every time you sweep in, thank you for the crumbs of time you can give me, and consider it  _ helping _ .”

“I’m sorry,” his boyfriend whispered, hands drawing together to rest in his lap. “I’ve had a lot going on, but I promise that’s over. I’ll make sure it’s over, okay?” Eliot’s eyes were filled with tears that didn’t spill and he smiled with his lips pressed into a thin line. “We can talk about all of that shit later, but would it be that bad to just try to stay here for a few more days? Just for now? I promise I’ll come see you every day, okay?”

Quentin’s scoff was incredulous as he shook his head and threw his hands up in exasperation. “I’ve heard that before. You’ve said those exact same words before. And you had no problem breaking your promises before.” Eliot’s hopeful smile dropped from his face and he closed his eyes. “You tell me you’ll be around more and then you turn your phone off for three days. Hearing more of your platitudes now isn’t all that comforting, and it’s not helping me.”

“Q…” Eliot’s eyes were desperate as they flicked open and searched his. “Look—fuck—there’s… I can tell you everything later, okay? Just… if I take you out of here now, what am I supposed to do if you try something like that again?” he asked, glancing at Quentin’s white bandages. “I-I can’t  _ deal  _ with that. I don’t even know  _ how _ .”

“Then just take me home.” The reluctant expression on Eliot’s face before he even opened his mouth to speak told Quentin everything he needed to know: Eliot wouldn’t be taking him anywhere. Fuck. Why wouldn’t anyone listen to him? Why did everyone think they knew what was better for Quentin than he did himself? “God, don’t you understand this isn’t your _choice_? I’m leaving either way. Don’t you get that?”

Eliot’s expression hardened and his eyes glinted with their own brand of sharp anger. “Well, I didn’t exactly get a choice in finding you bleeding out all over your bathroom either, so I thought maybe you might be willing to work on not being in a situation where I have to make a choice like that ever again. Guess not, though.”

A harsh laugh escaped Quentin before he could choke it down. “Yeah, well maybe you made the wrong fucking choice,” he spat, regretting the words the moment he saw them hit their target. Eliot’s eyes widened in shock for an instant, full of bright, vivid pain like he’d been physically wounded before familiar shutters slammed down over his whole countenance, shutting Quentin completely out of whatever he was feeling just before he looked away. 

“Look, I get that you’re angry but—”

“Eliot? Just go,” Quentin sighed, feeling so tired of being _him_ , fingers pulling through his greasy hair, his slightly itchy scalp stinging as they caught in a tangle of unkempt strands. “You clearly don’t want to deal with me and no matter how long you sit here you’re only delaying the inevitable, because I’m still signing myself out the second you leave.” 

Eliot turned back towards him sharply. “I don’t want to  _ deal  _ with you?” he echoed indignantly. “Is that what you think?”

“You’ve made it pretty clear lately.” 

Eliot stared hard at him for a long moment before scoffing, though the effect was ruined by the tremble of his chin. “So, let me get this straight: I won’t sign you out because I’m concerned for your goddamned _life,_ so you’re just done with me? Just like that?”

Quentin went still, his face falling slack as he realized what Eliot was assuming. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all, but…fuck...

_ Maybe it’s what he wants,  _ he thought.  _ Maybe he’s just been waiting for the perfect excuse to take that last step out the door _ . It had felt like Eliot had one foot out the door for a little while now. He’d been around less and less, his excuses growing flimsier all the time. Maybe it was just guilt that had brought him around this time.  _ Why is he afraid of hurting me now when I’ve been hurting for so long and he never even noticed?  _

The idea Eliot found him too fragile to break up with felt like a gut punch. Just how long had he wanted out? Weeks? Months? When was the last time Quentin had seen Eliot smile, without those omnipresent, mottled shadows beneath his eyes? 

_ Let him go,  _ his thoughts whispered, and Quentin’s eyes blurred with hot tears because he knew they were right. Eliot didn’t deserve to be weighed down like this just because he was too generous and kind-hearted to walk away when Quentin was weak. Everything had been heading in this direction for months; he just hadn’t wanted to admit it. What a selfish thing to do. It was time for him to let Eliot go.

“It… It’s not that simple, really, but yeah,” he forced himself to say. “I guess. You don’t have to worry about it or me anymore, okay?”

Eliot shook his head, his expression bordering on angry. “Q, that’s not what I meant and you  _ know  _ that. I just want—”

“I get it,” Quentin cut him off, not harshly this time, just decisive. “I know what you meant. It just… it doesn’t matter anymore, okay? It’s over. It’s done.  _ We’re _ done. Go home, Eliot.”

Eliot didn’t move, staring blankly at Quentin through glassy eyes, his face blank with shock. Everything inside Quentin cried out to take it back, to beg Eliot not to leave, to promise he’d stay in this damned hospital as long as Eliot wanted.  _ Anything.  _ But he didn’t betray his decision in either word or action.

Instead, Quentin stood as steadily as possible and walked from the room on legs that didn’t quite feel connected to the rest of him, absently making for the small restroom down the hall, closing himself inside, and leaning back against the door. His breath hitched once, then twice. He breathed slowly through it, willing himself to calm down. 

_ This is better for him,  _ he told himself.  _ And honestly, it’s better for me. I can’t keep lying to myself. Eliot deserves… _

Eliot just deserved more, didn’t he? More than Quentin had ever been able to offer him. It really was no wonder he’d grown so distant. How had he missed it? Eliot was beautiful and charming. People always wanted to be near him, like he had his own orbit, but instead of spending time with all those admirers he’d spent the last three years squirreled away with Quentin, who consistently turned down nearly every suggestion to leave the house like the introvert he was. Any time they had gone out together, Quentin had usually ended up in a corner somewhere until Eliot came to his rescue with a gentle smile and an offer to leave. For Quentin, college was an opportunity he’d always taken for granted because he’d always known it was a done deal given the education he had received as a child and how intelligent he was, but for Eliot it was an escape, a chance to spread his wings and enjoy the kind of freedom he’d never have gotten to experience in Indiana. Eliot wanted to  _ live,  _ and…

_ I don’t.  _ Quentin’s diaphragm quaked suddenly with a violent sob, and he barely managed to clench his teeth before it escaped him, knowing any sound he made would alert someone to come running with a key to the door. He couldn’t leave, not until he was sure Eliot was gone. 

Quentin wasn’t sure how long he stood against the cold steel of the door; long enough for it to warm against his back, long enough for his tears to eventually dry up, leaving his face feeling tight and itchy and his head throbbing. When he finally dared to leave the room the common area was empty once more, and he let his hair hang in his eyes as he made his way back to the sofa, curling up in the corner to stare vacantly at the television again as he picked at the unraveling thread of one of his bandages. 

He didn’t realize he’d dozed off until he felt an annoying tapping on his hand and opened his eyes to see another aide looking down at him. “Quentin? You have a visitor. I told her visiting hours were over in ten minutes, but she’s insisting she sees you.” The woman rolled her eyes. “She was getting a little argumentative.”

“Uh. Yeah, okay. That’s fine,” he told her as he struggled to understand what was happening. Why was Julia arguing with the staff? 

Quentin didn’t have a chance to ask before the woman walked away at a clipped pace, disappearing into the lobby. The door hadn’t even had a chance to shut again before Julia pushed through it, anxiety practically radiating from her as she crossed the room to sit next to him, her eyes assessing him from his hair down to his feet. “Are you okay?”

“Um. I-I’m fine, I don’t… Why are you here?”

She studied his face, worry etched in every furrow of her expression and in her eyes. “Eliot left me a voicemail.”

“O-Oh. Um.” Feeling tears pricking at his eyes again, he inhaled sharply, tapping his toes against the sofa cushion. “Yeah, he… I guess I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she told him, leaning into his space to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I just had to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m…” What was he? Certainly not okay, not by any stretch of the imagination. He didn’t know if there would ever be such a thing as  _ okay _ again right now. “I’m here,” he sighed, not knowing what else to say. 

“You are,” she replied, smiling with such relief that he wanted to hide from her, to just tuck his head into his sweatshirt and live like a turtle for the rest of his days. He didn’t deserve Julia either, but he’d always known that. 

“Jules, I really want to go home,” he told her, his eyes skittering away from hers when his voice broke. “I… I promise I’ll take my meds, okay? I’ll—fucking call a therapist. Tomorrow. I  _ swear.  _ I just…” He took an uneven breath, trying not to cry again. His head was killing him and he knew he was emotionally exhausted. “I can’t stay here. Please.”

“Okay,” she said softly, her fingers still in his hair, scratching at his scalp in the familiar way that had always brought him comfort. “Okay. I’m not really cool leaving you alone right now, even with a full staff. Maybe that’s selfish,” she laughed quietly, her slender hand slipping down to cover one of his. “I’ll stay with you tonight, okay? And don’t think you’re off the hook. You  _ are  _ making an appointment tomorrow. And I’m holding your pills until I think you’re good, okay?”

Quentin nodded obediently. He’d do anything if she’d only take him with her. He wanted his room, his bed, his  _ books.  _ He’d lost so fucking much; all he wanted was some comfort, and the clinic couldn’t give him an ounce of that. 

“It’ll take a while,” he warned her, unfolding himself to let his feet drop to the floor. “My, uh, doctor? She’ll want to argue about it, and I’ll have paperwork.”

Julia nodded. “That’s fine. I can wait in the lobby. I don’t mind. I need to make a few calls anyway.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She squeezed his hand. “Q, I know… I know it probably feels like hell right now, and I know you probably don’t want to hear what I think. I just… I really feel like you did the right thing, you know? It’ll get better, okay?”

_ Better?  _

What could be better than seeing Eliot’s unguarded, sleepy smiles in the morning? Or listening to him sing show tunes in the shower? What could possibly replace the sight of watching Eliot go through his morning routine, laying in bed while his boyfriend softly argued with himself over which shirt to wear with what tie and how it was  _ so not warm enough outside for the brocade waistcoat, Quentin _ and curse his gorgeous hair every time it fell in front of his lovely hazel eyes? What feeling could replace the way Quentin’s smile had always grown with the way Eliot always quickened his step when they spotted one another, or the quiet, surprised laugh he always made after he came? 

_ Nothing gets better now.  _

Still, Quentin forced himself to give Julia a weak smile, squeezing her hand in return. She couldn’t know about all of that. Those memories were just for him. “Yeah. Okay.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
